Iron Cross
by Rosemary Baggins
Summary: Fourth part of the Monochrome Series. Set during the world wars, where Prussia is not only fighting the Allies but himself as well as he struggles to keep Italy and Germany safe and happy.
1. Chapter 1

Fourth part of the Monochrome series.

 **Warning:** language, **M rated**

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia.

 **Pairing:** Prussia x Germany

No beta has seen it.

Historical notes on the bottom of the last chapter.

* * *

Iron Cross

Chapter 1

 _ **During 1914**_

The sound of heavy combat boots clinking together as a tall figure straightened rigidly, readying himself to give a report was louder in the small office than expected.

The soldier was young. And unexpectedly eager.

"Herr Oberst!"

Prussia looked up from his paperwork, red eyes skimming over the person in front of him with amused mirth.

"Rührt Euch!"

Hands joined behind a broad back, right foot moving a step to the side to take up a more comfortable position.

The young man was a breath of fresh air in this shitty gunpowder infested stale and grey environment. His posture was unflinching. Uniform immaculate. Golden blonde hair cut short and slicked back, blue eyes fixated somewhere on the wall behind Prussia, waiting for the next order patiently.

Germany was the personification of a perfect soldier.

A bittersweet feeling gripped at Prussia's heart as he watched the proud figure standing in front of him. His little brother wasn't that little anymore. The boy he raised for over a century was now a young man, and he never felt so old before.

The blonde was completely devoted to his post, too. And as much as the older nation enjoyed watching him pursue this military career, he wished his younger brother was less official when they were in private.

Prussia sighed.

Oh well, if Germany wanted to play this game he would play along.

"Report?"

"Sir!"

Rustling sound filled the little room and a neat stack of papers was handed over. Prussia flicked through it quickly before putting it aside, adding another layer to the pile of reports he had to read properly.

Work was piling up, and he mentally groaned at the prospect of yet another night spent in this stuffy and uncomfortable as hell office.

This modern war sucked. Royally.

In the old times, they only had to wait for the scouts to report back. Then after some strategising it was time to act. No paperwork. No signatures and permissions. No bureaucracy. Just pure fight, where men clashed against men in a battle of physical strength and skill, amongst the symphony of clangouring steel and euphoric shouts, while the sickly sweet scent of blood and testosterone filled the air.

Prussia almost groaned from pleasure at the thought.

But this war was nothing like that, and the older man missed those simpler times.

He missed the thrill of the fight, too. But to his dismay he was given a high enough rank to keep him cooped up in this small office doing paperwork instead. At first he thought it was overprotectiveness. His boss didn't want him to get hurt, not like a nation of his status was easily harmed. But then the realisation dawned on him. His brazen behaviour on the battlefield and his 'archaic' values were not welcome on the front lines.

Prussia frowned. Well, sure this new style of war wasn't his cup of tea but it's not like he couldn't adapt. However, he was still a great strategist. An awesome one, if he could say so himself. So the top brass decided to chain him to an office desk.

 _Well, fuck_.

He hated it. But orders were orders. There was no way going around it.

"Is that all?"

Germany stiffened.

"Yes, sir!"

There was some hesitation in his voice. The answer came just a moment later than it used to. Other officers wouldn't have noticed that. But Prussia knew instantly that there was something else.

He leaned back in his chair, giving the younger man an unconvinced stare. If Germany kept silent about it, it was either irrelevant to the report or something personal. Either way the man wanted to know.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Sir?"

"You know, you don't have to be so official with me." The man said, crossing his legs under the desk and waiting for the inevitable reaction this comment triggered. Every single time.

It was getting annoying. As much as he understood that Germany wanted to take this seriously, he was going overboard. So typical of him. He either did something with full devotion or didn't do it at all. It was admirable, but right now it just added to the older nation's general irritation.

"But, sir-"

"Oh, please!" Prussia threw his hands in the air then dramatically collapsed onto the table. "At least when we are in private! Or do you hate your big Brother that much?"

Germany winced at this theatrical whining, but his posture relaxed anyway.

"You're incorrigible."

Prussia perked up. The smug grin plastered on his face could have driven anyone crazy.

"Well, as long as I get what I want…"

Germany regarded him with a distasteful look, but didn't comment on it as he pulled a chair closer and sat down as well.

Fixing his crumpled uniform Prussia lifted himself back into a sitting position, too.

"So, what happened?"

The heavy sigh that followed made him grateful that he pressed on. Something strange was going on. Something that made the usually composed Germany troubled. And he didn't like it.

"While I was out there, I met another nation…"

A white eyebrow rose curiously.

 _Ah, that would explain things._

Honestly, the man had difficulties imagining that anyone could affect Germany that much even if they were a nation. Normally the boy would report anything. It wasn't the first time the blonde was sent spying on others. So unless it was France sexually harassing him, he couldn't imagine a reason for Germany to keep quiet.

Prussia froze for a moment. He had to shake his head free of all the unpleasant images his mind provided him with.

What if it was exactly that?

No, definitely not. It couldn't be. Germany was strong enough to protect himself, besides, that wine guzzling bastard might have been a pervert, but he would never force himself onto anyone.

But what if…

Absently picking up a pen and twirling it between his fingers, the white haired man leaned forward suspicion raising its ugly head within his chest.

"Was it France?"

"No. Italy."

The pen snapped.

The room suddenly got much colder.

Ink spilled all over the documents and Prussia's fingers, and the man cursed loudly as he tried to save the paperwork, his uniform and save face. Losing his composure like that was totally unacceptable. Not awesome at all!

But this was entirely unexpected.

"Are you okay, Brother?" Germany jumped up instantly, helping him to clean up the mess.

Soon everything was under control and Prussia could sit back again. Trying to calm his nerves, he exhaled deeply.

No, he was not _fucking_ okay.

The last time he has seen Italy was forty-five years ago in Rome. He helped the boy regain his territories, just as he promised, but since then-…

No. Since Germany became more than just a brother he couldn't face the older nation.

Germany… Holy Rome…

Prussia's ink stained fingers twisted into his military jacket nervously.

They were not the same, but the self-loathing at his betrayal he felt every time he thought about his benefactor was real.

He stole Holy Rome from Italy. Gave him a new name. A new existence. Sure, initially he hoped that the boy would regain his memories, but after a while he was rather glad it didn't happen. He _didn't want_ it to happen! And after everything what Italy did for him, he felt guilty. He was such an ungrateful brat!

And exactly because of that he kept his distance. And selfishly kept Germany away from the smaller nation, too. If they met, who knew what would happen.

Would Italy recognise him? Would Germany regain his memories? It was plausible. And Prussia was scared of hurting Italy, but even more scared of losing his only family.

His brother. His lover. His _other half_.

"So, you met Italy? And…?" His heart hammered like crazy, yet the question was rather calm, cautious.

Germany took a deep breath, and Prussia did the same.

"I've never met someone so annoying in my life!" The younger exclaimed.

"What?"

The question tore from Prussia's chest like the breath he didn't even notice he was holding back.

What a surprise!

"Is this guy for real!? Does he understand what war is!?" The frustrated outburst made the older recoil in shock as he watched the blonde grab at his hair irately. "Is that puny little nation seriously the descendant of Great Rome?"

 _Puny?_

"What happened? Did he say anything?"

Germany gave a disdainful wave.

"Blabbered something about tomatoes and fairies."

Blabbered? Fairies?

Was the blonde really talking about Italy? Was he not mistaken perhaps? Because he just couldn't believe it.

Sure, Italy's appearance was rather effeminate but puny was such a harsh word. He wasn't physically strong, but he was graceful and beautiful like those renaissance paintings he loved so much. He had a unique aura, the soldiers – not only his but Prussia's as well – always calmed down when he was around. And yes, he tended to be childish on occasions, but the white haired nation couldn't remember him _blabbering_.

Were Prussia's memories deceiving him, the long years sweetening the image he had in his head, or did something happen to change the smaller man so much?

Anyway, his fears seemed to be unwarranted, and – although he wasn't exactly relieved – he felt somewhat easier.

"You should keep yourself away from him." Well, it never hurt to be careful. "Although he was part of our Alliance I doubt he would join our side."

Or at least Prussia really hoped so. There was no need for Germany to spend too much time with the brunette, but in case they allied it would be unavoidable. Besides, he heard rumours that the Allies offered a rather sweet deal to him. If Italy had any common sense and a bit of tactical foresight, - which he had, Prussia knew from experience – then there was no reason for him not to accept the offer.

"Join our side?" Germany snorted. "That would be shooting ourselves in the foot."

The comment made Prussia grin.

But he quickly composed himself, and leaned forward. Resting his elbows on the table, and intertwining his fingers he fixed Germany with a warning.

"Is that what you think? I'm telling you that boy is dangerous."

This has worked out better than he thought. If he could just make Germany avoid the Mediterranean nation completely, everything would be fine.

"Seriously? That kid?"

The disbelieving tone made Prussia frown. Despite everything he had a bad feeling. Something ominous was hanging in the air. Or was it just paranoia? God, he was getting old!

He shook his head dismissively fitting the younger with a stern look.

"Just keep yourself away from him."

 _ **At some point between 1920-30s**_

Italy's new boss was a rather eccentric man. But then again, Germany's boss was pretty eccentric, too. It was strange how these two even became friends, although Prussia couldn't not notice the slight aloof, - or maybe reserved was a better term, he wasn't sure - body posture the Italian leader displayed throughout the whole meeting.

What he feared the most, happened.

Aside from losing the war, which was a big hit to his ego and a substantial blow to the wellbeing of his and Germany's children, what he personally feared the most was sitting across the room snoozing peacefully, chestnut coloured curl swishing gently in the soft draft blowing through the open window.

 _Fuck dammit!_

The only 'positive' aspect of the situation was that Germany seemed just as much irritated at the prospect of working with the Mediterranean nation closer as he was. Although their reasons were entirely different.

Yet, the most annoying thing was the fact that despite all of his fears, Prussia was rather excited to see his benefactor after so many years.

In spite of all the political turmoil that was going on at his house, Italy seemed to be doing well. His cuteness wasn't fading either. It wasn't that child-like cuteness that Prussia remembered from centuries ago, but it was still… _Ah!_

Prussia sighed and turned his gaze away from the sleeping form.

It still made him want to protect the boy. Just like the very first moment they met.

Crap.

This whole thing was giving him a headache.

Not enough that he had way more important things to worry about, he was forced to take part in this stupid meeting, which wasn't even anything official. It was just a friendly tea between their leaders! Sure, everything happened in hopes that from now on their relationship could become a bit closer, but Prussia just couldn't see why was their presence as nations needed as well?

He wanted to get away. Besides, being so close to Italy made him feel strange.

Luckily, the meeting ended rather quickly, and he could go back to his office finish his much hated paperwork.

Tsk! Ridiculous! He would choose shitty paperwork just to be away from Italy… So not awesome. But right now everything seemed to be a better idea than being close to the little nation. It felt too unsettling. Really, he needed to calm his nerves and his jumbled thoughts, and doing paperwork seemed to be the best option.

Almost immediately Prussia managed to immerse himself in work, soothed by the rustling paper and monotone scraping of a pen against the white sheets. But barely an hour has passed when a soft knock on his office door alerted him again.

He looked up confused, not expecting anyone at this time, as the door slowly opened and a pair of honey-gold orbs looked back at him warily.

Prussia gasped.

"Your Holiness…!" The man jumped up from his seat shocked. "What are you doing here?"

Italy flinched. He looked around the corridor hurriedly before slipping inside the room and closing the door behind himself.

He exhaled relieved.

"Please, don't call me like that."

Prussia mentally slapped himself.

Fuck!

No one was meant to know! It was their secret! How could he forget?

"I'm sorry. You just surprised me."

Italy smiled at him sheepishly before pushing himself away from the door and took a couple of steps closer.

"No it's okay," he said. "I'm sorry, too. I came uninvited."

The instinctive, first reaction was to run. As the young looking nation came closer and closer every fibre in Prussia's body screamed at him and protested for being trapped. He came here to get away from Italy. So now what? How to escape?

But the smaller nation looked troubled. The white haired man couldn't really put a finger on this strange feeling, but the other seemed uneasy. Despite the smile on his face Italy seemed to be nervous.

It was worrying. No matter what, Prussia swore to protect him. Even if the current situation didn't make him happy, that he wished he could keep the brunette away from Germany, that he was afraid of the possibility that they could recognise each other… He just couldn't stand that morose look on the other's pretty face.

Something was bothering Italy, and he couldn't imagine what it could be. Unless… Unless it was Germany.

The temperature suddenly dropped in the room.

What if he knew? What if he came here for an explanation? To call him out on his actions? His lies?

Dammit!

Prussia closed his eyes, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

There was no other way around it! If he wanted to know, he had to ask. Finding out why the Mediterranean nation has come was the only option.

He sighed heavily and defeated, and motioned for the other to take a seat.

"How can I help you?"

Ruby eyes fixated on the smaller frame, searching for any hint. For any sign that could explain this sudden visit. But there was none.

Italy shuffled closer, sitting down rather awkwardly, his posture rigid as if he was afraid of something. There was no real eye contact either, aside from a few anxious glances. If anything, this strange behaviour put Prussia even more on edge.

Just what was going on?

"Is there something bothering you?" he asked, sitting down behind his desk as well.

Italy flinched once more.

One hand coming up to nervously comb through his auburn locks, he looked at the taller man for a moment before averting his gaze again.

"Ah, no… It's just-, I mean-" He was lost. Prussia didn't know what to do.

"Italy?"

"Are- Are you angry?" The little nation managed finally.

Cheeks rosy from embarrassment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirtsleeve, it was not the question that Prussia expected.

And he was dumbfounded into silence for a moment because if anyone had the right to be angry it was Italy.

"Why would you think that?" Being confused was an understatement. Prussia genuinely didn't know what to think anymore.

"You looked irritated during the whole meeting." The smaller man said quietly. "Is it because of the previous war? We were on opposing sides. I would understand if you didn't trust me…"

Was this for real? Was this seriously the reason Italy came to see him?

The white haired nation felt stupid and relieved at the same time. Ah, just what kind of idiot was he? Although, he couldn't decide which one of them was the bigger one right now. Him for fearing Italy, or Italy for sweating at such trivial matters.

He was struggling with laughter, the corner of his mouth involuntarily pulling to a grin. He had to take a couple of calming breaths while hiding the smirk that seemed to be plastered onto his face before he was able to properly respond.

"I'm not angry," he said relaxing into his chair. "The Allies offered you a good deal, and it's our obligation to keep our children's best interest in mind. So don't worry. I just have a lot of work to do. That's all."

"So, you don't mind if I come and visit you and Germany?" The little nation's huge honey-gold orbs shined with relief and hope. He looked like the young child Prussia once played with in the gardens of the Lateran Palace. And he just couldn't say no. Besides, it seemed there was nothing to worry about.

"If that's what you want."

The boyish features lit up with happiness.

"Yay!" Small hands clasped together. "I was really worried that you were angry at me. But I'm glad that you're not." Italy smiled, and Prussia melted at the sight almost immediately. "But I don't think Germany likes me too much." The smaller man continued suddenly.

"Does it bother you?"

Tilting his head to the side, Italy shrugged.

"A bit?" It was more of a question than a statement. "My boss wants to have good relations. And I'd like to be friends, too. After all, he is your little brother."

Somehow that didn't sit right with the white haired man, but Italy seemed completely honest, so he let it go. Besides, his secret was safe. They didn't recognize each other. And the little nation was his saviour and benefactor, he owed him his existence, and anyway, Prussia always liked Italy.

Everything would be okay. There was no need to worry. And Germany could benefit from having friends and allies aside from Prussia, too.

Maybe having Italy in their lives wasn't that bad after all.

 _ **Early 1930s**_

It wasn't easy.

When Germany first told him that Italy was a blabbering fool he didn't want to believe it. Even now, he still had his doubts. Now and then the Mediterranean nation had moments which reminded Prussia of old times, but really, he was a menace.

He didn't just stir up their lives, he completely and utterly _fucking_ destroyed the peace and order of their normal routine. And thanks to his bubbly and childish personality it was impossible to be really angry.

Prussia wasn't sure if it was coincidental or Italy was actually playing on that either. The glint in those honey-gold irises was, for the lack of better word, disturbingly suspicious sometimes.

Granted, Germany took the brunt of it. The blonde spent a ridiculous amount of time with the small man, mainly because Italy seemed to be glued to him.

At first, Prussia was worried about it, but after observing them a few times from afar he realised that there was nothing to worry about. Italy was just clingy and overfriendly, and the more Germany pushed him away, the harder the little nation tried to get closer. Sometimes it seemed he was doing it just to spite the blonde, but Prussia doubted that Italy had the capacity to be mean to anyone. It was difficult to decide if his tenacious forwardness and total disrespect of personal space was because of his boss, or because he genuinely wanted to become friends. Prussia suspected both.

Stepping out from under the hot shower and drying himself, the white haired man sighed exhausted. The tiles were cold against his overheated skin, and he dressed quickly into his sleeping clothes, wanting nothing more than the soft warmth of his bed.

It was another hard day. And just the thought of having to deal with Italy's mayhem tomorrow, too, was making him feel tired.

Although, he had to admit, there were moments he enjoyed immensely. Watching Germany get flustered each time the brunette did something what he didn't know how to respond to provided Prussia with morbid fun. And Italy dragged him along, too, to every football game and meal, - which did include breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and sometimes two dinners – but Prussia never minded that because spending time with his brother and Italy was rather pleasant. And Italy's food was nice.

Of course, he did feel lonely sometimes. One, because due to Italy's presence Germany was too busy to spend _quality_ time with him. He had needs too, dammit! Although, Prussia assumed that as long as the younger returned to _his_ side, looking for salvation in _his_ arms, there was nothing to worry about.

And the other reason he felt lonely was, well… He was expecting Italy to spend some more time with him, given their shared past. But maybe that was the reason why the smaller nation kept his distance. There were things no one was supposed to know, and Prussia often made the mistake of calling the other the Holy See. However, he was never left out completely, and really he didn't have the time nor the energy to run around babysitting his two companions, anyway.

Trotting through the cool corridor towards the bedroom the house seemed oddly quiet. No sound of anything braking, no childish whining, no angry shouts. This strange peace was suspicious. Prussia felt a chill run down his spine, although he couldn't tell if it was a bad omen or just the draft.

Italy was staying at their place for the duration of his visit, which luckily ended in a couple of days. Good thing that Italy didn't visit that often. Doing this every day would be pure torture.

Especially that Prussia had a lot of things on his mind. The situation in Europe wasn't exactly rosy after the big war. There were things he had to reconsider and change, and his boss was a demanding prick too… _Damn._

Too many things to do.

Combing through his damp hair irately the man halted in front of his bedroom door. He should probably do some paperwork before he goes to bed. He really had to. But…

His fingers twisted around the cold doorknob, as the huge stack of documents flashed in his mind.

Fuck it! He was tired and deserved some good sleep.

The door creaked open, and Prussia almost jumped in shock, as he stepped inside the well-lit room. Almost, because nations old like him didn't get scared easily.

But _there was_ another person inside, - who to his dismay was not Germany - sitting in the middle of his bed. Clad only in a loose top and boxers, Italy was hugging his legs while resting his chin on masterfully crafted, almost feminine knees.

There was a dejected frown on his face, which didn't seem to disappear even after Prussia shut the door behind himself with a loud click, alerting the smaller man to his presence.

"Your Holy-" The boyish features contorted even more and Prussia immediately stopped. "Italy. What are you doing here?"

The miserable puppy-like look in those golden orbs made the man worried. But the moment he stepped closer Italy averted his gaze and puffed out his cheeks like a little kid.

"Germany shouted at me." Came the pouty complaint. "And he kicked me out of his room."

Oh. So that happened. That would explain why was the house so quiet.

It wasn't really surprising either, but there was no way that he'd ever admit that.

"Did you try to sneak into his bed again?"

When Italy groaned as a response Prussia had to suppress a giggle. And the brunette looked really upset about it, too, even though it wasn't the first time it happened. Really, it was so easy to read him.

Taking a seat next to the other, the bed bounced underneath them.

"You should just leave him alone." Prussia advised patting him on the head. "He has a lot of work to do."

But to his surprise, his hand was swatted away.

"That's exactly why I'm doing it." Italy whined dramatically. His eyes reflected annoyance, and he threw himself over the fluffy pillows, pressing one to his chest in anger. "How can he not see it?"

The open displeasure on the other's features, the clear irritation in the usually childish voice… It made no sense. Suddenly it was so out of place that the taller nation didn't know how to react.

Prussia's breath hitched for a moment as he tried to comprehend the words.

 _Wait, what?_

And then it him. Hard. Like a sack of potatoes falling on his head.

"Is this all just an act? You're doing this on purpose?"

The look he received in exchange spoke for itself, and he cracked.

The laughter that erupted from within him, filling the whole room, rolled off of his chest like heavy stones. It was liberating.

 _No fucking way!_

He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. The sheer absurdity of the situation was just too hilarious, and he couldn't contain it.

Falling back to the bed as well, he rolled onto his side. His frame shook, and tears gathered in crimson eyes which he had to wipe off with the back of his hand.

Italy regarded him with a rather unamused look but refrained from saying anything.

"I knew you were a sly fox."

The little nation puffed out his cheeks again.

"I'm no sly fox," he said offended. "And it's not an act. I hate wars and all of this serious stuff. I much rather play with you and Germany. Especially that the two of you workaholics don't know when to take a break."

A genuinely upset Italy was a rare sight. Something to take seriously. The look on his face screamed at Prussia _'how can you not understand it'_ and _'I'm doing this all for you',_ and the taller man was crumbling under the weight of those eyes. It was like sinking in a pool of molten gold.

He shook his head to clear the swirling thoughts in his head, and turned towards the other ruffling his hair apologetically.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But there's no need for you to worry about us."

"But there is!" The poor pillow got squished even more. "You work so much that you skip meals. I have to drag you out of that office to eat. It's not healthy." Long, dark lashes cast shadows over trembling eyes. Italy didn't look up, his sight was fixated on an imaginary spot on the bedding. With cheeks turning rosy – whether from embarrassment or from something else, Prussia didn't know – he looked like a blushing maiden. "At least you make sure to catch some sleep. But Germany completely neglects taking care of himself. So, if I come to visit, I want to make sure that you guys relax a bit."

 _Ah!_

Cute and pure.

Those were the only terms suitable to describe him. Flushed skin, petite frame, hugging the pillow close to his chest protectively… The urge to draw the small body into a strong hug was overwhelming.

Turning on his back, Prussia awkwardly scratched his head.

Crap!

Italy was messing with his mind again. Why was this making him feel guilty?

Oh, yes!

Because he was the one meant to do the protecting yet the little nation completely fooled him. How unawesome! But deep within his chest this gushy feeling was spreading, too, like warm and sweet treacle. With happy laziness enveloping his tired and heavy body the goofy smile pulling at his lips was unstoppable.

In his own silly way Italy was taking care of them. He should have noticed that earlier. Italy might have looked and acted young with his happy-go-lucky attitude, but he was not stupid. Prussia had to remind himself again and again that this childish little nation he swore to protect was almost twice as old as he was. And that's a lot considering he had more than seven centuries worth of history behind his back already, too.

Time was unforgiving. Lately, the years piled up on his shoulders were acting up. Making themselves known, leaving his body tired and aching here and there. Prussia was getting old. He could feel it in his bones, but whenever Italy showed up with his inexhaustible vitality it rubbed off on him as well. It was a wonder that after so long the older man still retained his boyish charm.

And Prussia was glad and honoured that he could experience this charm, this positivity, endless life energy from such close proximity. That it was shared with him willingly. Even if it was a humongous pain in the ass sometimes.

Lying so close to each other a soft breath tickled his bare shoulder. He looked at the other again. Italy's half lidded orbs seemed to be shining like some kind of fiery gems. He was dozing off, blinking slowly, as thick, black eyelashes caressed his still slightly pink cheeks.

Switching the lights off, pulling him closer and throwing the duvet over the both of them was a spur of the moment thing. The little nation _'oomphed'_ and looked up surprised, roused by the sudden movement but there was nothing Prussia could say.

"You hate sleeping alone, don't you?" Was his only explanation. "You can stay here tonight."

Italy remained silent, but he pressed himself closer hugging a muscular arm to his chest instead the abused pillow like a plush toy.

Such an honest display of affections was embarrassing. Prussia wrote it off to sleepiness, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't feel good. Germany could be cute sometimes, too. Very much so. But it wasn't this pure, childish innocence that Italy possessed. And as much as Prussia loved Germany, – because he loved him deeply and dearly, no questions asked – he was fond of the little nation, too. Although he wished Italy would stop sleeping in the blonde's bed. It made him jealous, despite knowing that there was really nothing to worry about. He was a possessive creature after all.

"Say, why do you hate it?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you hate sleeping alone?"

Tired eyes tried to focus, fogged over with a promise of a languorous dream. Italy blinked, but he couldn't keep his eyes open and nuzzled instead the shoulder he was using as a pillow.

"I was born in the Mediterranean. I get cold easily." The whispered words tickled white skin. "And I don't like being alone in the dark. It's scary and lonely. Really lonely…"

The voice drifted away giving place to even breathing. Italy fell asleep leaving Prussia in the dark room alone with his thoughts.

 _What the…?_

Did he just make one of the biggest mistakes of his life? Lonely and dark nights was something he could tell all sorts of tales about. Before Germany became part of his life that was all he could remember.

Drawing the thin body just a tiny bit closer, Prussia sighed defeated. There was no way he could be angry or jealous anymore. They were all longing for connections, for a family, for that special person, just like humans did. And the one who was meant to be the most special for Italy became his light in the darkness instead.

That horrible feeling of guilt came back again. Like seaweeds gripping and strangling, pulling down towards the suffocating depths of the cold and dark sea. There was no escape.

Help. Defend. Heal.

For centuries that was his motto.

That's what he pledged to the Holy See. That's what he pledged to Italy. Yet he was failing again and again and again, while his benefactor was giving not only him but Germany, too, everything he could. In his own way, after so many centuries, Italy was still taking care of him. Of them.

And Prussia wanted to repay him. If it meant letting a rampaging storm in the form of the little capricious nation into their lives, he was happy to pay the price.

After all, there was nothing the awesome Prussia couldn't deal with.

 _ **1933**_

It was an accident. There was no one to blame. They all knew that. But the sinking feeling in his stomach, the dreadful fear gripping his heart, the rage boiling in his chest was unstoppable.

Because Italy wasn't moving.

And despite being responsible for what happened just as much, his first reaction was to blame Germany.

When he stormed into his brother's office just a while ago, crumpling that day's newspaper between his fingers he didn't expect the bubbly ball of energy to be there. The smaller nation shrieked and jumped up as Prussia kicked the door in, surprising the tall nation as well, but the man quickly shoved his presence to the back of his mind. He had more important matters now to deal with.

Prussia never felt so betrayed in his life. And never felt so angry either. After everything he had done, after everything they went through together… What Germany did was unacceptable!

First the coup against his government and now this! He had no proof that Germany was involved but just the fact that that deranged boss of his was taking over power was enough to suspect him.

And Prussia was _fucking_ furious!

How could Germany set the Reichstag on fire?! How could he let that happen?

 _How!?_

The situation of their people was becoming dire lately and drastic changes were needed, but to go this far?

They were meant to be brothers, he thought sourly. Germany should have asked! Should have consulted him! So why was this the only way!? Did Germany not trust him?

That single thought pushed the white haired man on the brink of despair. It wasn't right. Something bad was happening with his brother and Prussia felt helpless, frustrated and betrayed.

And when he chucked down the newspaper on Germany's desk expecting an apology, demanding an explanation and got only a bored look as a response, all the unpleasant feelings bottled up inside him exploded, oozing out venomously like poison.

They shouted and threw insults at each other that Prussia never thought would leave either of their mouths. At that moment every word was meant to hurt. Germany called him old, and archaic and a dead weight. Doing nothing just holding him back. And Prussia in exchange called him an ungrateful, selfish brat, who was too inexperienced and stupid to govern on his own.

They never fought like that. And it scared him because it wasn't just a misunderstanding between brothers. A simple family argument.

This was serious.

The anger reflecting in Germany's sapphire blue eyes was present in his ruby ones as well. And Prussia was terrified of his own feelings and behaviour because something really horrifying was going on that he didn't understand and couldn't stop.

He didn't think rationally when he grabbed at the blonde's shirt wanting to shake some sense into him. And Germany was just as much irrational when he shoved him away.

Italy screamed and tried to stop them but he was ignored on both parts.

After that everything happened so fast.

Amongst the cacophony of their own voices all that Prussia could remember was a fist aimed at his face. It was impossible to dodge. He clenched his teeth instinctively expecting the pain but it never came. Instead he felt a strong shove, knocking out the breath from his chest. Falling backwards, his eyes dilated in shock as his field of vision was invaded by a flurry of auburn hair just for it to disappear in the next moment, as an iron fist descended and Italy was sent flying against a wooden chair, breaking it completely as he tumbled to the floor unconsciously.

The silence that followed was stifling.

Bile rose in his throat.

A minute has passed. Two. And then the realisation dawned on them: Italy hasn't moved yet.

The fear that gripped Prussia's heart was something he never experienced before. Not even the fear of losing Germany was as strong as this. As fatal as this.

And Germany looked just as mortified. His fist was still raised in the air but it was shaking. His shocked gaze jumped between the unmoving body and his hand trying to figure out how did this happen. But there was no answer. His lips trembled. Mind shutting down, the hand fell limply next to his body.

"I didn't-… He got in the way… It wasn't my fault…" he muttered blankly.

Yes.

Prussia agreed.

It was an accident, after all, but knowing that didn't help.

And when blood started pooling around the brunette's head, the older nation saw red as well.

The hatred he felt towards himself was only overshadowed by the hatred he felt towards Germany. If not for his stupid actions… If not for his provocation… Nothing of this would have happened!

He charged at the blonde instinctively. This time his fingers curled into a tight fist ready for a hit. Germany recoiled from the sudden movement, and losing his balance plopped on the floor looking in daze at his older brother's raging form. He didn't move, too shaken to comprehend what was going on.

"You-!" Prussia's hand drew back, but the punch never reached his goal.

"Stop it!"

He froze at the familiar voice, but he couldn't have moved anyway as Italy's thin arms circled around his waist in a surprisingly strong fashion. Just how the hell did he get there so fast was beyond comprehension. "Both of you, stop it! You can't hurt each other. Brothers shouldn't fight." Italy's voice was muffled and strained as he buried his face in Prussia's clothes.

The small body was shaking. Blood stained the blue uniform dripping from the chestnut tresses, and pitiful sobs filled the otherwise quiet room.

Italy looked broken. And it was their fault.

Germany's fault.

The suffocating fog-like rage that roiled inside Prussia at the sight of the crying nation clouded his mind. His fist that was still raised in the air moved once more.

"Let me go!"

Italy only clung to him even stronger.

"I can't do that!"

"Italy!"

"You owe _Holy Rome_ your life!"

His stomach made a double flip before sinking like lead with the rest of his internal organs lower than his feet.

Time seemed to stop.

Prussia froze, the name mercilessly echoing in his head. It's been more than a century since anyone uttered this name. More than a century since he heard it aloud. And more than a century since Italy spoke of it. Of _him_.

The gravity of the situation slowly started sinking in.

 _Italy knew._

"Since when-?"

"Always," came the quiet reply. "Since the very beginning." Prussia's legs wobbled like jelly and he sunk to the floor ungracefully. Italy sunk with him, for whatever reason refusing to let go. "So please, don't fight…"

It felt unreal. Like a hazy dream or a nightmare. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be -…

Breathing was difficult. He wondered if maybe Italy's arms held on to him too tight, crushing his lungs, but the other's effeminate physique could have never allow it. Especially not in the state he was in right now.

Prussia's head was spinning, frantic thoughts leaving him nauseous and covered in cold sweat that trickled down his neck, making his shirt stick to his back with sickly, unpleasant stickiness. The warmth of Italy's shaking breath seeping through the material of his clothes caused chills run up his spine.

What now?

Italy knew. He knew it all along, but never said anything. What did all this mean? Just what the goddamn hell was he meant to do!?

He blinked confused and lost at what to do, like a fish out of water. And then his gaze fell on Germany.

 _It was all his fault._

"B-brother?" Germany's voice was shaky.

"Get lost!"

The harshly barked order left no room for protest.

The blonde held his eyes captive for a moment, but soon he hanged his head in anger and left the small office hurriedly. As if being in the others' presence was too irritating and painful.

Heavy footsteps fading away, Prussia felt bad and ashamed. The more rational part of his brain screamed at him for being unfair, for treating Germany too strictly. After all, he was just as much to blame! But the little trembling nation glued to his chest right now scared him enough to ignore all kinds of rationality.

He had to do something. He _wanted_ to do something. To stop the shaking, stop the tears, stop the pitiful, agonizing sobs that ripped at his chest with iron claws of shame and remorse.

His thoughts whirled and buzzed unpleasantly. There was so many things he wanted to say and ask but his tongue felt like dry parchment in his mouth.

He gulped heavily.

"I-"

"You don't have to say anything," Italy cut him off immediately, whispering and hugging the bigger body stronger than before. "It doesn't matter."

As if woken from a trans, Prussia's arms finally weaved themselves around the small form. The touch uncertain first, but when he wasn't pushed away the hands held on to the lithe frame with clear protectiveness.

"I'm so sor-"

"Don't apologise!" The tone cutting him off was almost as strict and harsh as his was before. "Germany is Germany and not Holy Rome. I accepted it a long time ago. And you did a brilliant job raising him. So don't ever apologise for this."

The words were mercilessly liberating. And disgustingly understanding. And as much as he wanted to hear it, Prussia wished Italy was more angry. This calm acceptance only made him feel an even deeper guilt.

But, he guessed, he deserved it after all.

Immersed in his bleak thoughts his deft fingers numbly combed through the other's hair until they touched something hot and sticky.

"Show me your wounds."

The Mediterranean nation winced shaking his head.

"I'm fine." His weak protest was promptly ignored. Blood stained fingers examined the hidden cuts and bruises on his scalp with expertise and efficiency. "No, really I'm-"

All kinds of resistance on Italy's part was futile, Prussia didn't let him wriggle out from his grasp, despite the other's best efforts.

"Look at me."

The order came as a surprise, and Italy stilled allowing the taller man to sneak his hands onto plump cheeks and lift the auburn head up.

The characteristic curl was nowhere to be seen, plastered to the side of Italy's face instead by all the blood. The pretty boyish features were dirty and messy, and his lip was busted, blooming in different shades of greens, blues and purples.

But Prussia's heart really skipped a beat when instead the honey-gold irises two ashen pearls looked back at him blindly.

Breath left his chest with a tremble barely swallowing down that painful noise that wanted to escape. Prussia didn't whine. And certainly didn't cry. And he didn't regret things either. Well, sometimes he did, but not really. After all, this was all Germany's fault anyway. But there was no way he could stop, deny the self-loathing, the repulsion he felt towards himself at that moment. He wanted to punch himself. To crawl into a hole and die. Because even death had to be better than seeing those lovely, gem-like orbs that always smiled this ghostly and lifeless.

 _Fuck!_

His eyes blurred and he had to blink back that prickling sensation that sneakily attacked when he was at his weakest.

"Your eyes…"

"It's nothing!" Italy shook the white hands off his face and nuzzled Prussia's chest instead. "It gets like this when I'm stressed. Sorry to worry you. I'll be just fine in a moment or so. Just let me rest a bit."

Worry?

No, Italy was wrong. It should be him apologising for putting the brunette through this ordeal in the first place.

He shouldn't have lashed out like that against Germany, even though his anger was sort of justified. Germany was still very young, he should have been more understanding. More like a big brother.

Dammit!

He screwed up royally. And on top of that got Italy involved as well!

Drawing the older nation into his lap, he leaned against the office desk, allowing Italy to rest comfortably within his embrace. Thank God the sobs have died down, because Prussia didn't know if he could take any more of this gut-wrenching feeling.

As selfish as it was – because he didn't deserve to feel relief – he needed to calm his nerves as well. But Italy's small puffs of breath were evening out, and his frantic heartbeat that thudded against Prussia's chest as a constant reminder, quieted down, too.

The hand that subconsciously massaged the small back so far combed through the sticky tresses again.

"I want to take you to the infirmary and clean the wounds. Do you think you are ready to move?"

The raspy voice was foreign to his ears. Prussia cursed silently.

He had to pull himself together. Italy needed him right now. He had to be able to protect and take care of him. Just like he promised all those years ago. This pathetic and weak person was only in the way!

But Italy either didn't care or was too much in pain to notice his shaky constitution, as he nodded silently. Either way, Prussia reached underneath the smaller man's knees with one of his hands while circling the shoulders with the other, and lifted the brunette up.

Thin arms waved around a pale neck, and before long strong smell of antiseptic filled the air and Italy was gently lowered onto one of the empty beds in the otherwise deserted sickbay.

Prussia made a quick work of disinfecting and patching up all the lacerations and bruises. To his great relief, even though it looked rather bad, the wounds were already healing. The superhuman rate of nation's recovery always amazed him. No matter how badly they got cut, stabbed, poisoned, burned, beaten… Ah, the list was too fucking long and he didn't want to remember; as long as it didn't affect them as nations, they healed fast. Only wars, territorial changes, disasters and events that affected them as the personifications of their lands and children left substantial damage on their bodies. Sometimes even for decades to come.

But an injury was still an injury, and they bled just like any other human being.

"How are your eyes?"

Italy's lashes fluttered first, squinting as if the light was hurting, but slowly his eyes opened, looking up at Prussia with pools of amber and gold solace. The white haired man sighed. Heavily and painfully, but just a tad more relieved that the colour he preserved in his memories for over half a millennium was back in its rightful place.

"It's still a bit blurry." Italy blinked looking around the room experimentally. "But it's gonna be fine."

"I'll take you home. You should go to bed and rest."

Voice less rickety this time, Prussia nodded to himself.

It was okay. Italy would be just fine. Sleep will solve everything.

But as he was cleaning away all the bloodied cotton pads and putting away the first aid box he used before, his hands refused to follow command. Actually his whole body was shaking.

Shit.

He refrained from cursing out loud, but the temptation was strong. The state of his nerves was absolutely ridiculous! And he clutched at his fingers with frustration and anger, because why the hell was his body so uncooperative throughout the whole of this nightmarish situation, and betraying him on every single fucking step?

So unbecoming of an awesome nation of his status. To let Italy affect him so much. To let Germany's idiotic stunt throw him off balance like that… Unacceptable!

He has gotten soft. A couple of centuries ago he wouldn't have let anyone do this to him. He was the White-Fucking-Demon of Europe, and other nations trembled in front of his strength and greatness.

But now… Now he wasn't sure if he was a nation at all anymore. With all the shit that happened… With Germany's boss taking over… His sovereignty was questionable. And that disturbing, nagging feeling that felt like someone was trying to crush his stomach, seemed to be foretelling something. Something that Prussia didn't want to, and didn't even had the mental capacity to think about right now.

His frayed nerves and brain only managed to come up with the next step so far: taking Italy home and making sure he sleeps properly. Probably he'd have to stay with him until the little menace falls asleep, too, but Prussia really didn't mind that actually.

He needed a good sleep himself. And if he wanted to be as far away from Germany as it was possible – which seemed like the best fucking idea he had in years – Italy's room was the best option. After what happened the blonde wouldn't come near it. Or at least Prussia really hoped so. Because right now he couldn't deal with it. And even though he knew that what he did was just delusional procrastination, belaying the inevitable, his conscience told him, - no, demanded! – that he'd stay by Italy's side.

Besides, he had a lot of thinking to do. He didn't want to rush it. He has already screwed up enough.

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Fourth part of the Monochrome series.

 **Warning:** language, **M rated**

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia.

 **Pairing:** Prussia x Germany

No beta has seen it.

Historical notes on the bottom of the last chapter.

* * *

Iron Cross

Chapter 2

The Sun was barely glimmering at the bottom of the horizon tainting the navy blue of the night with a nuanced brush of indigo, exhibiting the most exquisite prowess that belonged to none other than Mother Nature herself. For a nation like Italy, whose creativity and love of art was well-famous around the world, it could have been a truly inspirational moment. Prompting to grab after canvas and paints and recreate the colours and shades that Prussia didn't even know the names of.

But for him, who settled for enjoying art from afar rather than creating it himself, it was just another early morning. Admittedly, a pretty one; but still too early to start comprehending where he was exactly, and even less to appreciate the subtlety of Nature that in general he just summarised with one word anyway: pretty.

Prussia blinked a couple of times, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. The pattern on the ceiling that he vaguely recognised through the solid greyness of the early morning told him that it wasn't his. That, and the fact that a soft breath was tickling his shoulder; and as he looked to see who it was and recognised Italy's curl bobbing gently with every inhale and exhale, all the memories from the previous day, or rather disaster of a day, came back, assaulting his brain like a horde of rampaging drunk knights. Or something like that.

He didn't want to think about it. Turning towards the older man, he groaned quietly, and draped a hand over small waist refusing to wake up just yet, ignoring the ache in his stiff body and the uncomfortable pull of his uniform that he fell asleep in. But the annoying pictures of that horrendous ordeal didn't let him rest, making all the nasty feelings of betrayal, anger and self-loathing resurface.

He begrudgingly sat up, careful enough not to wake the other. Anxiety has won this battle.

Luckily, however, Italy looked way better than before. His features were smooth, although a bit pale as porcelain skin seemed to glow in the darkness of the room. He looked like a doll. A beautiful and fragile doll, that Prussia wanted to hide and protect from the world.

Ah, it was so stupid of him. Italy wasn't that weak. Given his age, he has already been through more than Prussia could even imagine.

But it still didn't stop him from worrying and he automatically smoothed through auburn hair checking the healing process of the damage that was inflicted by Germany's carelessness. Well, and his too. There was no excuse for deluding himself. Luckily, however, everything seemed to be all right, and the relief that washed over him like a tidal wave left him tired all over again.

Italy was okay. And he didn't blame him nor Germany for what happened, – what couldn't be said about Prussia because he did blame, both of them at that. And Italy also knew his secret. And miraculously he was more than understanding about it.

That left Prussia somewhat conflicted. He didn't know if he should be happy or grateful or if he should start freaking out right about now, because when considering all the consequences it entailed regarding their relationship, it just gave him a headache of massive proportions that no amount of beer, or any type of alcohol for that matter, could drown. Besides, he had a much more pressing matter at hand right now.

Germany.

Prussia sighed. He did that a lot lately, annoying him to no end. This getting old business didn't suit his awesome image. But he sighed anyway and got out of the bed, cautiously as to not wake the smaller nation. He needed a hot shower, a change of fresh clothes, and a couple of extra hours of sleep. Everything else came after.

Sauntering through the corridor the murky light of dawn cast gloomy shadows on the wall. The eerie silence and stillness only dampened Prussia's mood even more. But his hope for any kind of rest plummeted together with his stomach, when he rounded a corner and saw a blonde figure sitting on the floor in front of his bedroom door.

Germany had to be there for quite a while, because he was clearly nodding off, and when he jumped up, noticing the other's presence, his movements were just a bit more sluggish than normal.

Prussia's first reaction was to turn around and run. And no, not because he was scared of Germany or the upcoming conversation, - although he sure as hell wasn't looking forward to it – but no. The reason he wanted to run was that his hand curled into a fist routinely by this time, and he was really holding himself back to not lash out and slug the younger man. Hard.

And that crestfallen, self-pitying look on his face made the urge to bash his head in even stronger.

How dared he look like that!? After everything he had done! After the complete and utterly selfish shit-storm he caused himself!

Prussia was raging.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Germany recoiled, the curt question cutting through the silence of the morning like a bullet.

He looked away, avoiding Prussia's cold stare like the plague, whether from shame or embarrassment it was difficult to say. Lips parted to answer, but sound didn't come out for a long time.

"I-… Uhm…."

That was it.

Prussia couldn't handle the blonde's clear lack of balls. This pitiful performance was definitely not what he taught him. ' _Take responsibility for your actions!'_ That was what he tried to teach him for over a century now!

Germany had no right to look like a victim, to act like a fucking damsel in distress!

And the white haired nation just couldn't help it anymore. He cleared the distance between them in a wink of an eye, slamming the younger against the wall with a loud thud as his fist drew back, then swung forward, punching so hard that Prussia's knuckles cracked and started to bleed.

Germany blinked. Then blinked again.

His azure gaze travelled from his brother's heaving form to the fist that was embedded into the massive wall just a couple of inches away from his head.

"Why-…?"

"Because the reason Italy got involved in this shit was to stop us from fighting, _Arschloch_!" It hurt like a bitch, and Prussia didn't even try to mask his anger and irritation. "But I swear if you hurt him again, I -" He couldn't finish.

The words just didn't come. Got stuck somewhere between his chest and throat in a painful knot, leaving him helpless and frustrated.

He what? What would he do? _Probably nothing_ , he thought sourly. At first he wanted to say ' _I'll kill you'_ but that was just an empty and stupid threat, overused by humans and driven by cheap, superficial emotions. Besides, he couldn't have hurt the other no matter what, the blonde was his little brother, his lover, his family, and Prussia loved him despite all of his faults. No one was perfect.

But just the simple thought of a hurting Italy set the inferno of rage ablaze within him. It was unacceptable. Something that couldn't go unpunished. And it was an unusual reaction, too, because normally Prussia didn't give a flying rat's ass about other nations, except of course Germany. Granted, the pledge he made to Holy See and then to Italy run thick within his veins, but-

No, it wasn't that. Not this time. Not anymore.

Italy was his _friend_. And Prussia didn't have friends.

Sure, he had some nations he liked to hang out with, like Hungary for example, when she finally deigned to put the girly act and the frying pan aside, and turn back into the badass knight she used to be. They argued, and sparred, and went hunting and Prussia liked being around her because she was one of the few nations he considered more or less as an equal, - and of course, he would never miss a chance to piss Austria off either - but she was more of a rival than a friend.

And yes, he hung out a lot with France as well, because he was a rather insightful man, and while their world views more than often didn't match, it was interesting to hear someone else's perspective. And well, he was good in the bedroom, too. They shared heated moments of complete abandonment and ecstasy on multiple occasions before Germany became part of his life, mainly because France was a hopeless perv indulging in his sybaritic life style, and because Prussia had nothing better to do. But all of it was just sexual gratification for both of them. They fought and argued more than fucked; their escapades usually started on the battlefield, continued in the bed, and then finished on the battlefield once more. And it was okay. Because under all the romantic bullshit and perverted shindigs that he could pull, France was an astute leader, and Prussia acknowledged and valued that. Even if the eccentric blonde often told him that he should find someone to share his life with properly, _to love_ , which annoyed the hell out of Prussia.

He didn't sought love. It was impractical and irrelevant to his children's wellbeing. Being enamoured with someone would require time, attention and energy that was much better spent on his people.

Of course, after so many years of being together with Germany, he knew that it wasn't like that; that loving and caring for another person so dearly taught him a lot. But he wished, as the hand that fisted the blonde's shirt trembled unstoppably, he fucking _wished_ that it wouldn't hurt so much. He was angry, and frustrated, and really, really disappointed exactly because he loved the younger so much.

Because contrary to Hungary and France, Italy was _truly_ a friend. Something Prussia didn't realise himself up until now. But the little nation proved it so many times already that no matter what happens, no matter how badly Prussia fucks up, he would be there. After everything he did; stealing away Holy Rome, turning him into Germany, lying about it, and then on top of that falling in love… Italy was still here. Standing next to him. To them. Supporting silently, caring – not so silently – in his own way for both of them. And if this was not friendship, not dedication, not love then he didn't know what was.

That's why it hurt so much.

Germany's betrayal was frustrating. The fact that he let himself being influenced by his boss so easily, that he didn't think of consulting his brother first was one thing. But that he let his emotions run rampant, involving a bystander in the process, - Italy no less, who gave them so much – and not taking responsibility for it, having the gall to fucking feel sorry for himself was unacceptable!

He should have apologised straight away. Clean Italy's wounds. And then apologise again. Although, Prussia did kick him out of the office almost immediately, but still… And this miserable pussyfooting performance he had put up now was just adding fuel to the already raging fire.

And Prussia was torn, because he didn't know what to do now. He was never so angry with himself before, and never so disappointed in Germany, and there was so much he wanted to say but didn't know how.

He just wanted his brother to understand, to realise where he went wrong. No, not the coup or the Reichstag, at this point it barely mattered anymore, but the complete and utter lack of visible remorse for what he did to Italy. That was way more important!

So he pulled with his still shaking hand at the material of Germany's shirt even stronger, forcing the blonde to finally look him in the eyes, trying to convey his feelings without words, because it was just too fucking difficult otherwise, and words were misleading anyway, urging the other to get the hint, to understand, to acknowledge that what he did was beyond forgivable.

And it seemed the blonde did understand because he sighed, shutting his eyes and letting his head drop against the wall, as his posture relaxed, turning into something more akin to defeat. It was accepting. Humble. His eyes cleared of the fog created by shock, anger and confusion, and his voice stopped trembling when he spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

It was quiet but honest. There was no doubt about it.

"Tell that to him, not me."

The blonde nodded, but Prussia couldn't help not to tug at the shirt again, making Germany snap his head towards him. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but it was gone almost immediately as the older man's unforgiving gaze bore holes into his skull.

"I will," he said resigned. "And I promise it won't happen again."

The white haired nation held him for a moment longer, but then finally let the material slip from between his fingers with a tired exhale, and stumbled backwards until his back hit the opposite wall.

God, he felt so old and exhausted.

His entire being trembled as the tension slowly faded from his body. He had to focus all of his remaining strength in his knees to keep standing.

Bed. What he needed right now was a few extra hours of sleep, and he needed that desperately.

But Germany hasn't moved yet, and as much as Prussia wanted to be alone, he was reluctant to leave lest he wanted to risk his legs giving up underneath him and tumbling to the floor. His pride was tarnished enough, there was no reason embarrassing himself in front of Germany even more.

"How is he?"

The white haired nation looked up surprised, not expecting the younger to talk just yet. Actually not expecting him to talk at all, even less to enquire about Italy. But the question was simple and sincere, and most of all finally sounded of remorse.

"His wounds will heal completely by tomorrow, or the day after. He is really… Understanding," Prussia said more to himself than to Germany.

There was no response. The silence between them stretched almost endlessly binding them with suffocating, merciless vines.

He couldn't take it. The urge to run, to get away from everything was too strong. Just when in the hell had he turned into such a coward!?

Prussia's head was still a swirling chaos of emotions and thoughts he had difficulties to handle. And Germany's presence was not helping. It was infuriating.

To hell with everything!

He pushed himself away from the wall, legs still shaky but feeling confident enough to make it behind the safety of his bedroom door.

He wasn't running. It was tactical retreat.

But as soon as he moved, Germany moved as well.

"Prussia, about the Reichstag-"

"Don't!"

The older man halted more abruptly than he wanted, and snapped at the blonde more strictly than he intended to.

 _Prussia?_

Although Germany rarely called him like that, it was never a problem. It never annoyed him. But now… He couldn't explain it. There was no rational explanation, except that he was no-

Prussia shut his eyes, his features contorting into a painful frown. It wasn't easy.

Except, that he was no Prussia anymore. Only on paper. But even that was questionable.

Besides, it was useless. Talking was useless. Waiting for something to happen, letting Germany speak was useless. What happened, happened. There was no way going back, and no matter what they said the damage was beyond repair. The real question was how they will move forward. And Prussia suspected that their relationship as nations, and lovers, but most of all as partners largely depended on his reactions. His choices.

Fuck! It was just too much!

He didn't want to destroy what they had.

"But I-…"

"Please, just don't!" He didn't look at the blonde. Too afraid that if he did he wouldn't be able to finish. "Just don't say anything, and don't call me like that! You of all people have no right to use that name anymore."

"How should I call you then?"

It hurt. His fingers curled into fists again, his treacherous body revolting against the decision he made. Stupid emotions, and stupid instincts, and stupid fucking situation! But he forced his lips to part, forced his tongue to move, forced the air out of his lungs to speak, to form the words that tasted like bile and vomit and humiliation.

Choking. It felt like choking.

"Germany," he squeezed out past clenched jaw and teeth. "Call me Germany. You took my government, my lands, my history, but taking the hearts of my children won't be that easy. So from now on you'll be _West_ and I'll be _East Germany_."

"I see. So you accept it then."

Prussia's eyes snapped open. Germany's tone was not exactly smug, but the slight disbelief at just how easily the older nation yielded his power, mixed with a confidence that was characteristic for young, aspiring adults. And even though Germany wasn't young by any human standard, as a nation he was still incredibly young.

And Prussia couldn't blame him, because he himself had problems with believing just how quickly he rolled over.

A part of him was disgusted. But another part, the more reasonable one, told him that this was the only rational decision. The last thing they needed right now was another war.

"I have no other choice, really," Prussia admitted, his voice resigned and full of acceptance. Like a defeated commander waiting to be either taken prisoner or executed on the spot. "I promised you the world once. What kind of brother would I be if I couldn't do at least this much?" And he really meant it too.

Germany nodded.

"Then, can I still call you Brother?"

Ah, so prison it was. And despite his pride rebelling against it, Prussia was happy. The status quo was ruined, but they still remained a family.

"I'll always be your brother. No matter what. Even if I have to fight you, that's the one thing I'm not willing to give up."

Sapphire blue met ruby red. For long no one spoke. There was no need. Prussia conceded. Germany accepted. It was as simple as that.

They could have argued. Could have fought. Prussia could've resisted, but there was no point in doing that. Germany was stronger, younger, and ultimately Prussia just didn't want to fight. As an older brother, it was his duty to let the younger generations succeed at some point. It didn't happen the way he imagined, but it's not like he wasn't expecting it at all. Everything what he had belonged to Germany anyway. They were one.

With hurting pride and aching heart, but at least they remained a family.

When Germany nodded again understanding and accepting their new-found relationship, Prussia let out a long breath.

He was exhausted both mentally and physically, and deeming the conversation finished decided it was time to retreat.

Shaky legs moved again, and his hand twisted around the cool doorknob just to be stopped by a surprisingly soft pull at his shirt.

"Brother wait!"

He looked back, startled to see a forming blush on pale cheeks. "Let me stay with you for the rest of the night." Came the quiet request.

Compared to the way he behaved previously, the Germany standing in front of him right now was a completely different person. His stance was less assertive, face blooming like a field of poppies, framed by golden hair bright like the sun. He looked almost boyishly shy. It reminded Prussia of the times when Germany was much younger, when their relationship as lovers was barely budding yet.

It reminded him of the times when he promised the boy the world. And now here he was, doing exactly just that. Willingly, yet not willingly at all. Giving everything he had, before it was taken by force.

Prussia's stomach curled so tight that for a moment he forgot to breathe.

He immediately knew what Germany wanted. It was inevitable. Normal. Their status has changed. Positions reversed. Now Germany was in charge. In a reversed situation he would have done exactly the same. Heck! He probably wouldn't even ask!

But his whole being rebelled against the idea. Not because he found it revolting, 'cos honestly if Germany have ever asked before to let him dominate, Prussia would've agreed. Would've probably found it rather amusing, too. But this was not about being together, sharing an intimate moment, this was not _love_. This was demonstrating authority, asserting power, affirming their new roles.

It _was_ inevitable.

Prussia's sweaty hand squeezed and turned the doorknob, and he strode into his room without giving a second glance or an answer to the blonde just leaving the door open behind himself.

 _Fuck dammit!_

He hated it! Hated this situation, hated being powerless, hated rolling over like that, and most of all hated that despite everything he still loved that idiot with every fibre of his body.

The rush of adrenaline, the excitement, the sweet taste of victory, gaining power, new territories… Prussia remembered the feeling, too well. When he first experienced it, his body was still too young to enjoy the pleasures of flesh, and he clenched his thirst on the battlefield instead. But Germany was different. He was old enough to know carnal desire, but too young and inexperienced to hold himself back. To understand the difference between this and love.

Prussia blamed himself. He spoilt the blonde too much, and now he had to take responsibility for it.

Well, whatever. There was no turning back.

Expecting Germany to follow him inside Prussia turned around. The younger was taking his time, and the white haired man was in no mood for playing around and bullshit like that. If Germany wanted to do it then he better hurried the hell up, or he would kick him out.

But to his complete astonishment Germany hasn't moved from the door, and at first he didn't even understand what was the other waiting for.

Quiet. Patient. Hopeful. Expectant. Germany didn't move an inch. His pools of liquid diamond almost shone in the gloomy greyness of the morning.

And then, after a somersault beautifully executed by his stomach, - twice – Prussia finally understood it.

The blonde was waiting for his permission.

It was so unexpected that he didn't know how to react. Facing away from the man again, he gnawed at his bottom lip. He could-

He could send Germany away. If he wanted to. If he really wanted to, he had the power. And by the look on his face the man would oblige, too. The older nation never felt so relieved. He had a choice.

It wasn't inevitable anymore.

And maybe, probably, exactly because of that, when he finally decided to give an answer all what he said was, "Do as you wish."

The door clicked shut behind Germany as he stepped into the room.

Prussia shivered.

Waiting for the other to finally move, to leap into action, to assert his dominance was nerve wrecking. Every moment of silence seemed like an eternity of hesitation. And the older man readied himself for the worst.

But the first touch was surprisingly soft, and the kiss that followed more languid than domineering. Hands that glided against his body tentatively felt shy and inexperienced. Like teenagers doing it for the first time. It was surreal.

Prussia let himself being guided to the bed obediently. Let himself being stripped and taken in every single possible way. He was dominated. Conquered. Invaded. It was uncomfortable and humiliating at first; his pride as a strong nation ripped at his insides repudiating with claws of iron, steel and fire against being subjugated.

But Germany was unusually gentle. He was in charge throughout the whole time, no questions about it. His threatening growl, when Prussia instinctively tried to take over, reverberated in the white haired man's entire body with primal fear. One wrong move, and he'll be ripped to shreds. Germany won't go easy on him. But as long as he abided by the rules, it would be okay.

And Prussia did. He submitted out of necessity, and out of love, because, _fuck,_ he just couldn't go against him, and against his own stupid feelings. And in return the blonde made sure that he enjoyed every single moment of it. Every blasted embarrassing and shameful moment of surrender. And Prussia hated himself more than he hated – and in a twisted way _worshipped_ , - Germany right now, because his body sung with pleasure yielding to the younger's every whim and caprice. And Germany kept taking him relentlessly and mercilessly until he was too tired to even fucking _beg_ for a moment of break.

He couldn't move anymore. Couldn't think anymore. His body was a hot and sticky mess trembling with soul-shuttering pleasure that was disgustingly wonderful and wonderfully disgusting. And when everything was finally said and done, when he was finally allowed to breathlessly bask in the afterglow of his last orgasm, Germany pulled him into his arms, the same way he used to do it to the blonde, and kissed him, lips tender and loving.

But even through the decadent buzz of every inch of his body, and the debauched numbness that clouded his mind like the fumes of exquisite wines, he never felt so alienated from his brother like in that single moment.

His Germany was light-years away, and he could only hope that they will find each other again.

 _ **At some point between 1933-1938**_

The weather was nice. Too nice, actually. Too nice to be sitting in a shitty office, doing shitty paperwork, for Germany's shitty boss. Well, technically his boss as well, but-

Whatever.

It didn't matter.

The weather was nice, and all Prussia really wanted was to sneak out and bask under the sun in a more secluded area of the training fields. Probably have a cigarette, too. Besides, there was no one around to stop him.

So, implementing all of his stealth skills in the rather deserted building, he leisurely waltzed out of the place, and then took a walk down to the fields, where he could take a nap under that solitary tree that overlooked the training recruits.

Ah, heaven!

He really needed a break.

After America's major depression, Germany taking over his government, the general radicalisation of Europe…There was something ominous hanging in the air.

It made him worried. And consecutively extremely tired as well.

But it wasn't all bad. Italy was still, well, Italy. Bringing chaos and joy into his and Germany's life. And his brother also opened towards Japan, which was a nice and surprising change of events.

Prussia nodded to himself approvingly.

Japan was a rather stoic man but incredibly old and wise, and his different cultural heritage brought new light into their own world views. And what Germany needed right now, more than anything was openness.

Prussia sighed.

It was his fault. He has kept Germany away from other nations for too long. He was governing for too long. And after losing the previous war… He couldn't blame Germany.

He did anyway because the way his brother took over was drastic and inexcusable, but he didn't blame him for _wanting_ to be in power.

He wished the transition to be smoother, to have a bit more time to prepare. Not only himself but Germany as well. Prussia was worried that the blonde would lose himself again, like he did before and hurt Italy.

The man shook his head. Soft grass tickled his ears, driving away the bitter memories.

It was an accident. Sure. He knew that. Still, it was not an excuse.

But it seemed, Germany was holding up quite well. He apologised to Italy just as he promised, and their relationship continued to be that awkward-friendly-annoying-whatever-the-hell-it-is relationship they had before. Except that Germany was just a tiny bit more patient and attentive.

Prussia would be lying if he said that this extra attention didn't please and bother him at the same time, especially knowing that Italy was aware of Germany's past. After all that happened the Mediterranean nation deserved to have Holy Rome back in his life, - Prussia's guilty conscience wanted him to be happy - even though he wasn't Holy Rome anymore, and he clearly didn't remember Italy at all. But because Italy seemed to be okay with that, not trying to make Germany into someone else, not treating him any differently, than any other nation, and because Germany returned to his side, seeking comfort within his arms, Prussia wasn't that worried.

Germany was still Germany. Emotionally awkward and cute and often taking things too seriously. He was still Prussia's little brother, his lover, his family. From this perspective nothing has changed. Prussia was still in charge. They bantered and annoyed each other just like before; and they cared for the other even more. They made love how they used to, except that now both of them were allowed to take the lead. And the white haired man didn't mind that because letting Germany be in charge in the bed sometimes was exciting and, well, it felt good, too, and at the end of the day they were equals.

As nations, however…

That was an entirely different question.

It didn't happen that often that Germany wanted to assert his dominance. During the last few years Prussia could count it on one hand how often it happened. But politics was something that was out his jurisdiction now. And it was just as much liberating, – seeing how he hated politics in the first place – as infuriating. He didn't approve of all of his brother's moves. He was playing a dangerous game. And criticising him or his boss was a big no-no.

But if he didn't question anything, if he kept himself away from politics, which admittedly was more difficult than he imagined, everything was okay.

Prussia stretched his body, letting the joints pop satisfactorily as the leaves rustled above him softly.

Damn, he felt old!

Just how were other, even older nations doing it? Like France, who despite taking a beating over and over again was still an unstoppable pervert and hated England – although Prussia had doubts about that, - with the same fervour he did centuries ago. Was it the unbelievable amount of wine he chugged down? Or Japan, who despite his age was agile and tireless in his training. Was it the fish he ate or his eastern meditation techniques? Prussia didn't know.

And of course there was Italy, too. A hyperactive ball of energy constantly getting into trouble. Like getting lost in the city while out on a walk and getting kidnapped. Or messing up the kitchen, and getting kidnapped. Or getting kidnapped and flirting with girls, who had big and bulky boyfriends… Prussia giggled. That one was hilarious. Germany had to step in to stop the fight and save Italy's ass, but the sly fox still managed to get a name and an address from the big busted beauty.

And apparently, getting stuck on a tree was another point to add to his list of Unexplained-Things-Italy-Did-For-No-Good-Reason, because as he leaned against the trunk of the tree he was sitting under, and looked up to see what was the source of the constant rustling despite the apparent lack of wind, the little menace casually smiled at him and waved, as if it was the most natural thing ever.

And before Prussia could even comprehend what was happening, Italy was on his way down, falling on top of the white haired nation with a loud thud and an oomph that was muffled by Prussia's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and leaving him confused for the next couple of minutes.

"Ah, I'm so glad you caught me!"

The man blinked. And then did it again.

"The fuck were you doing!?"

Prussia sat up, pushing the smaller nation off of him to shout and demand an explanation, but mainly to check if he was all right.

Of course, Italy was. Apart from a couple of scratches and leaves stuck in his hair, and the fact that he behaved like a manic five year old kid, there was nothing wrong with him. Besides, the fall wasn't that high anyway.

Italy tilted his head, closing his brightly shining pools of gold and smiled.

"I was chasing a cat," he answered easily.

Prussia's hands trembled. Cha- chasing a cat!? Was that supposed to be a good enough explanation? Just what the hell should he say to that? The nation closed his eyes and counted to five- no, to ten mentally. Italy was such a pain in the ass.

"I thought you are having a meeting with Japan and West."

Yes. Let's just ignore the cat part for now and ask something different. Maybe then things will make sense finally. Although, it was rather doubtful.

"It was boring."

Prussia paused.

He opened his mouth to retort that that wasn't a sensible explanation at all, but he stopped himself before saying anything. It _did_ make sense, he concluded after a moment. But it was not an acceptable excuse for skipping a meeting.

"You-…"

"I know," Italy cut in before the other could say anything. He stretched like a lazy cat, then made himself comfortable, tucking his hands under his head as a pillow next to Prussia, enjoying the soft grass. "But they were talking about military stuff and tactics and whatnot. They are preparing for a war. I have no interest in that."

The surprisingly perceptive analysis of the situation startled him. Prussia had a hunch concerning this matter, but he was never able to ascertain it before. So, it wasn't only him who caught on to Germany's plans. It was rather worrying actually.

"You don't like wars."

"No one does."

Hm, it wasn't that easy. People didn't like suffering, pain, famine and death. They didn't like being oppressed and mistreated and used. But the excitement of the battle, the surge of adrenaline was an entirely different matter. Although, this new, impersonal way of fighting was not what he enjoyed either.

"If there will be a war-…"

"There will be."

Italy didn't look at him. His unusually cold stare was fixated somewhere in the distance, whether the past or the future Prussia couldn't tell. His voice was stern and assertive, too, nothing like his typical silly self. Was he speaking from experience? Was this the confidence of the old nations? It was difficult to say.

But when Italy finally looked at him again, the smile was back. Gentler and more reserved, but a smile nevertheless. "Don't worry! I promise to stay next to you and Germany 'till the end. But, I will also make sure to fight as little as possible," he added suddenly, his features morphing into a serious expression once more. "I will avoid killing as much as I can, and I will stop fights as often as it is possible. I hope you understand."

As he looked at the little nation in front of him, his boyish charm radiating in the afternoon sun, but his honey-like orbs reflecting a deep wisdom that made Prussia shiver, he understood it.

' _His hands are small, not suited to wielding weapons, but he has a huge and kind heart…'_

Who was that said it? Prussia couldn't really remember. He didn't even understand why has this memory popped up in his head right now, but it was sort of fitting. Not only his hands were small, his whole body was small.

Italy was an artist. A playful sprite. He was like a pure child. The beating heart of Life. He was not built to fight and lead armies, and definitely not to kill. He was created to heal body and soul. But the darkness in his eyes that only very rarely could be seen, like now, only proved that his road was, indeed, difficult. That he has been through a lot.

And for whatever reason that made Prussia really uncomfortable. It made him realise the extent of the ravine that was stretching between them. He was such a brat!

Sinking. It felt like sinking in those deep pools of gold, and all the younger wanted to do was to run and hide somewhere, where Italy's eyes couldn't follow.

But he remained rooted to his place. He was not a scared kid, after all.

The silence was becoming heavy. Oppressing. And the urge to break it was strong.

"Your Holi-"

"Please, don't call me like that."

Jaw snapping shut, Prussia's teeth clinked together loudly.

Shit! He did it again!

Well, at least no one was around to hear his blunder, but still. Just how many years has been Italy asking him to not use that name?

Heat pooled in his normally white cheeks.

It was so embarrassing!

"Ugh… I'm sorry. Old habits die hard."

Such a shitty excuse, too. Seriously, what was wrong him?

But Italy was more than understanding, yet again. Turning onto his stomach, with dangling feet in the air, he inched closer to Prussia, capturing the flustered man with his gaze that was impossible to resist. And to hide from. And to run from.

"How about you call me Feliciano? Feliciano Vargas." The lack of understanding on the taller man's face had to be apparent because Italy continued, "That's my human name."

"A human name?"

"Nations share it with those whom they consider special."

Prussia's heart skipped a beat. Hands trembled.

 _Special?_

Was he special? Has Italy been holding him in such high regard? He always considered the little nation to be special, given that he was his benefactor, and that throughout the centuries Italy was always supporting him. Sometimes openly, sometimes not, and under the names of the Holy See and Italy, too. But he never imagined that it was mutual.

Of course, the brunette was friendly, but he was friendly with everyone.

"Do you know other nations' names, too?"

"Only Romano's."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

So he didn't share it with others easily.

Cheeks ablaze, the taller man was holding himself back to not hide behind his hands like a stupid blushing maiden. That was not awesome!

"Are you sure it's okay for me to call you by your human name?" His voice came out weak and trembling, and he wanted to punch himself.

Just what the fuck was wrong with him today!? Why was he so agitated? So nervous? Why were his limbs shaking like crazy?

 _Fuck!_

He was sweating. His heart hammered in his ribcage like a deranged woodpecker. And just to make things even more awkward Italy threw himself onto his lap, thin arms circling his waist, and nuzzled against his stomach like a child.

"Of course it is!" he said cheerfully. The little menace wriggled about a bit, then shamelessly made himself comfortable, using Prussia's lap as a pillow. "After all, Prussia is really special to me!"

The white haired nation's heart skipped a beat again. If this continued like that he would totally end up with a heart attack.

He _is_ special.

Something fluttered in his stomach. Not painfully, but uncomfortably, yet somehow it didn't bother him. A warm, giddy feeling spread out in his whole body jellifying his bones because there was no other good explanation as to why he felt so shaky.

"You-…" He didn't know what he wanted to say. "You-"

"You look cute when you blush."

That was it.

Prussia groaned, and threw his hands over his face to hide the treacherous redness.

 _FuckScheißeVerdammt…!_

The scream of profanities and curses didn't want to end in his head.

Just what the hell…!? How could a silly twerp of a nation have such a big influence on him? On HIM!? On the White- _Fucking_ -Demon of Europe! It was so absurd, so unacceptable, and it made Prussia so happy that he didn't know if he wanted to strangle Italy, hug him, or strangle him with a bone-crushing hug.

"You're such a sly fox," he mumbled through his fingers.

Italy giggled, this time not objecting for being called like that. Tinkling sound of laughter filled the air around them, and Prussia exhaled, breath leaving his lungs in trembling puffs as he leaned against the tree once more. He wanted to be angry, but couldn't hide the grin pulling at his lips, and before he noticed, nimble fingers were combing through auburn tresses.

The scene was familiar. The two of them lying in the grass peacefully, like back then in the gardens of the Lateran Palace. It wasn't the same but it still felt nostalgic, and Prussia almost groaned at the fluttering feeling intensifying in his stomach.

It was old age. This sappy, sweet feeling, this sentimental weakness; it had to be old age. And Prussia promptly ignored the voice in his head reminding him that Italy, despite looking so young, was actually older than him.

Silence stretched between them again, but this time it was comfortable and peaceful.

"I'd like to give you my name, too. But I've never been given one." The man broke the momentary calmness.

It wasn't really a complaint. It's not that he minded not having a human name. Up 'till now he didn't even know that nations had one. But suddenly he wished he had one as well, because he wanted to reciprocate Italy's-

No.

Feliciano.

The name tasted like joy and happiness. It was fitting. Very much so. And rolled off Prussia's tongue with melodic ease.

He wanted to reciprocate Feliciano's gesture. "Maybe I should come up with a name for myself and-"

"No!"

The way Italy sprung to a sitting position seemed as if he burned himself. He rarely behaved like that. This unexpectedly vehement objections was startling. The last time that came to mind was, when Prussia and Germany-

Never mind.

The taller man shook his head, banishing the memories.

But before he could ask what was wrong, Italy grabbed onto his shoulders, his expression a mix between upset and pleading.

"A name is a gift given by parents to their children," he started. "Nations don't have parents, but we have guardians. So please, allow me to give you a name!"

"Your H-"

"Feliciano! Call me Feliciano!" Italy cut in mercilessly. "Please! Allow me!"

The small hands that twisted into his shirt were gripping hard. The golden gaze boring into his was unrelenting.

The request was weird and unusual, but Prussia couldn't say that he disliked the idea.

"Sure, _Feliciano_."

Ah, the name was even sweeter when spoken out loud! It really did suite him.

The small nation relaxed almost immediately, and the smile that could melt an iceberg came back, too.

"Thank you," he said sitting back on his haunches. "Let's see… I have to come up with something good. Jürgen? Hm, no. Hans? Definitely no. Olaf…?"

 _Olaf?_

Prussia's left eye twitched.

Italy's attention shifted, and he was murmuring different names under his nose while periodically tapping his index finger against his lips.

Just don't let the name be something ridiculous!

"Ah! I have it!" Little hands clasped together. Here it comes! "Gilbert. Gilbert Belschmidt."

Wow.

Speechless. Prussia was speechless.

It was… Good. Surprisingly good, actually.

And the disbelief at just how good it sounded had to show on his face because Italy turned towards him with a toothy, knowing grin. It was truly annoying. One, because who the hell he thought he was being all smug and such; and two, why has that smug expression suited him so well? "I chose Gilbert because your first Grand Master received a copy of monastery rules from Gilbert Horal. They were friends, were they not? He helped you to become the Teutonic Order, as well."

Yet again, speechless.

 _Just how…?_

How did Italy know that? No, rather how did he still remember? It happened over half a millennium ago, even Prussia's memories were hazy. Now, that he heard the name again, sure, he remembered, but-

Not like it really mattered, but…

Prussia was dumbfounded into silence, his chest constricting with something akin to a mix between bittersweet nostalgia and pain. His lips parted, but he couldn't say anything for a long time.

"Is something wrong? You're really quiet. Don't you like it?"

Worried voice cut through the air like a perfectly aimed arrow, hitting its target dead on.

Prussia recoiled and immediately shook his head.

"No, it's perfect. I'm just-…"

He was touched. Deeply. And he was raging, too, because he really wanted to express just how much he appreciated it, just how much this meant to him, but the words just didn't come. A simple 'thank you' was not enough. Words were not enough!

So instead, he drew Italy into his arms, enveloping him in a warm hug, trying to convey his feelings and hoping that the other would understand.

His body trembled, just slightly, but trembled nevertheless, and despite his best efforts to stop it he failed because of that frustrating choking sensation that gripped at his throat. He refused to cry.

So not awesome.

But Italy seemed to understand him anyway, as he reciprocated the hug, leaning against the curve of Prussia's neck and shoulder.

"You're welcome," he murmured into white skin. "I'm glad you like it."

So pathetic!

He was so pathetic, but also too content to care.

It took Prussia some time to calm down enough to draw away from the light body. The tightness in his throat was gone, but he felt too emotional and too happy to completely let go just yet. So following Italy's previous example, this time he made a pillow out of the smaller nation's lap.

An annoying voice in his head told him that it wasn't exactly awesome, but that got silenced quickly, the aggravating yapping turning into a satisfied purr, when Italy's fingers combed through white hair, scratching at his scalp gently.

Fuck it!

It felt good. Italy was soft and warm and his scent reminded Prussia of the sea, spices and summer herbs. It was truly calming.

And as time passed in silent relaxation the taller man slowly started drifting away in the realm somewhere between dream and being awake. Although he was quite tired he was too excited to go under completely. He couldn't wait to share his new name with Germany…

Germany?

That's it. Germany!

The blonde didn't have a human name either!

Prussia suddenly shifted in Italy's lap, the pleasant scratching stopped for a moment until he settled again, and looked up at the older man. He was greeted with a gentle smile.

"Did you know Holy Rome's name, too?"

The fingers in his hair twitched just for a split second, but the smile never faded.

"I did."

"What was it?"

"I can't tell you that."

Prussia almost asked why. Almost. But Italy's expression stopped him.

It was melancholic. Nearly sad. He couldn't quite describe it. It was like that painting with the enigmatic smile from one of Italy's favourite artists. Or… No, it was more bittersweet. And all of a sudden guilt gripped at Prussia's heart. He shouldn't have asked that. It was unfair and selfish.

But before he could apologise, Italy started talking again, "Germany is Germany, and Holy Rome is Holy Rome. You raised him, so you should name him yourself. There is no need for you to know Holy Rome's name."

Or rather, he didn't deserve to know. But Prussia never said it. Italy was right. The old empire and the little child he saved… They were not the same. Of all people, he understood it better than anyone. And most of all, he also understood and respected the silent request of the softly trembling fingers.

'Don't name him the same.' 'Don't bring up painful memories.' _'Don't make me suffer again…_ '

He wouldn't do it. He would not allow himself to hurt the brunette even more. Yet again. After everything what happened. After everything Italy did for him. For them.

 _Fuck dammit!_

It was foolish of him to even ask, he didn't think before talking! How could he been so stupid!? Such an ungrateful ass!

Jaw tensing in anger, Prussia buried his face in Italy's clothes. He had to hide the embarrassment, hide the resentment he felt towards himself. Hide the guilt.

Italy was too strong. His calm acceptance and forgiveness was something the white haired nation couldn't even comprehend, but exactly because of that he valued and cherished it like his most precious treasure.

"I promise, I'll give him a name you can be proud of."

His voice muffled by Italy's uniform was quieter than expected, and for a while he thought that the other haven't heard him. But as the petite body started shaking underneath him, he knew that the message has reached its target.

Italy cried above him. Silently. With no tears and with a gentle smile on his lips, but Prussia knew he was crying, nevertheless.

Meanwhile, nimble fingers never stopped their tender ministrations.

 _ **After March 1938**_

Compared to popular belief, and despite all the signs indicating the opposite – mainly the fact that he was always somehow the centre of attention, ah, being awesome was not easy! - Prussia, or rather Gilbert – now that he had a human name he liked using it very much so, - was rather fond of peace and quiet. He valued his personal space as well, not willing to share it with anyone, but Germany and Feliciano.

Feli…

The name even after so long tasted sweet and satisfactory. And every time he heard his name – Gil, because that's how Italy called him usually - in that melodic, childlike voice his stomach fluttered excitedly and wanted to jump out of his throat. So, really, letting Italy in to his personal space came rather easily, and obviously Germany was a given, but everyone else, - except of those selected few whom he tolerated, somehow - could go and drown themselves in the nearest puddle.

Therefore, after letting his life go off the rails when Germany arrived, then sacrificing his normal, everyday routine to the cutest god of calamity and irrationality called Feliciano, when his life took another Faustian twist, Gilbert finally reached his wit's end. Because living under the same roof with Austria and Hungary was almost equivalent to striking up a pact with the Devil himself, and paying the horrible price without getting anything in return.

Austria was a sissy, snob noble, sitting on his fucking high horse, and being a nuisance to the people around. Prussia disliked the prick for centuries now, and the only reason – actually two reasons – his head was not bashed in yet with the nearest blunt object was the fact that his music was exquisite, - although, Gilbert would deny this fact 'till the day he dies – and because that day would draw considerably nearer if he harmed the insufferable douchebag, and Gilbert really didn't want to be done in by a sneaky frying pan 'accidentally' thrown towards him at an unbelievable speed.

Hungary, the owner of the said frying pan, despite being someone he 'tolerated', was just as annoying with her perfect and loving wife act as Austria, when she was around the pampered noble. And because both of them were living with him now, she was _always_ around that pompous ass!

No, Prussia's life has definitely taken a wrong turn somewhere, he just couldn't find out what he did to deserve it. Well… He did a lot of despicable things during his long life but none of them called for such a harsh punishment.

However, every situation had some silver linings. And no, not the common misconception that once someone hits the bottom of the pit there is no lower level, because quite honestly there was always the possibility to sink even further; but no, in this particular situation it was the fact that Prussia knew everything.

Really. Everything.

As useless as Austria was for nearly anything, aside from his music – or at least according to Gilbert, - Hungary was just that much brilliant when it came to gathering information and gossips. And she didn't mind to share it, either.

And living guided by the simple rule 'knowledge is power', Prussia never refused a bit of juicy gossips.

And since the two other nations have moved into his house the best place for acquiring information was either the kitchen or the living room.

This particular afternoon, when Gilbert finally returned from his office at the headquarters, the first thing he noticed was the smell of freshly brewed tea mingling with the heavy scent of roses. The gossiping duo had to be home as well. Led by the scent, he stepped into his living room, ducking automatically, and letting a cushion whizz through the air above his head then land on a floor with a dull thump several feet behind his back. With the arrival of Hungary the number a flying projectiles has increased dramatically, and Prussia was eternally grateful to whatever deity there was that his survival instinct was still as sharp as ever.

But this time the woman had to be in a good mood because her weapon of choice was surprisingly soft, and was way off the mark, too.

Gilbert looked at her calm and collected form, sitting at the coffee table sipping tea from one of his finest porcelain sets. Such audacity! But he let that slide this time for the sake of the three impressive bouquets of roses that were sitting atop of the wooden table. His lips pulled into a shit eating grin.

"You're surprisingly soft today," He turned towards the woman. "What happened? Has Austria finally grown a pair and satisfied your womanly desires?"

Hungary raised her dark brown eyes and smiled sweetly.

"At least I get satisfied," she said innocently. "And what about your _womanly desires_? Has Germany been neglecting you lately?"

Low blow. Such a low blow. This woman was pure evil.

But the thing that hurt the most was that her comment wasn't entirely wrong.

Germany has been busy lately. Actually, both of them were busy. There was no denying it anymore, the scent of war was heavily weighing in the air. It was only a matter of months, probably. And Germany spent most of his time travelling around the country or visiting his allies inspecting the preparations. Gilbert on the other hand… Well, he did what was expected of him. Being part of Germany he couldn't disobey. Besides, Germany wanted the best for his children, for _their_ children, and if that meant war Gilbert would accept it. He waged many wars himself. He was no hypocrite.

Alas, the situation required that they spend the majority of their time working, instead of enjoying each other's company. And on top of that Italy was busy, too. There was no one to alleviate his boredom, only Hungary and Austria, and that's something he didn't need in his life.

The woman in question looked up at him, her conservative smile clearly indicating that she knew her comment reached its target. Gilbert ignored her, and turned towards Austria instead.

"So what's up with the roses? Did she kick your miserable tightwad ass that badly that you finally reached inside your pocket? Or is it your sorry attempt to apologise for your lame performance, if you know what I mean?"

Prussia winked suggestively, the insufferable smirk still plastered onto his face, despite the condescending look that the sissy noble was regarding him with.

"Oh, please, you don't have to be so vulgar." Deeming his comment rather eloquent for once, the white haired man disregarded the remark. Austria was just too snobby. "And I have you know my performances are always first class. The roses are from Italy. A courier brought them early this morning," the bespectacled nation added, finally answering his question.

"From Italy?"

"It's for Valentine's Day," Hungary explained. "There's a bouquet for you as well," she pointed at a vase with a bunch of plump, blooming flowers.

Really? Feliciano has sent them roses? How thoughtful!

He stepped closer to inspect them, and the bouquet included a message as well: 'To Gil from Feli, with love'.

Butterflies fluttering in his stomach, the paper got stuffed into one of his pockets for safekeeping. Feliciano was so sweet. He really ought to reciprocate this gesture somehow.

With a silly but pleased smile on his lips, Prussia started for his room, only to be stopped again by that nagging jerk-wad of a woman.

"You know, Germany came home not that long ago. He had a bouquet as well but seemed rather flustered…"

She was smirking. God dammit, she was smirking and taunting, and it was infuriating! Just what the hell was Hungary trying to insinuate?

Prussia's brows drew together as he looked back at the female nation suspiciously, something unpleasant and ugly raising its head inside his chest. That witch was dangerous.

"What are you trying to say?"

Hungary sipped from her cup.

"Oh, nothing."

The white haired man groaned. Just what the hell was wrong with women!? What were they trying to achieve with games like this!? Prussia could never understand them.

"Deceitful old hag," he muttered under his nose as he continued up the stairs to get to his room.

"I heard that!"

 _Fuck!_

He ducked again, instinctively, without looking back, skilfully avoiding another pillow chucked at his person, and hurried up the rest of the steps before something harder would follow.

He was not running. Just avoiding conflict.

That damn she-beast!

But thanks to her words he was now more than curious to find out what happened to Germany. So instead of his room, he headed for the blonde's.

And in retrospect he wished with all of his heart that he didn't do it. Because at that moment he came to a realisation that would later start a whole chain of thoughts that ultimately led to his life being completely changed. Whether for the better or the worst, he wasn't sure yet.

But as it was, when he entered his little brother's room what greeted him was a rather flustered Germany.

Gilbert sighed. He should have gotten used to it by now. The blonde was always a borderline nervous wreck after spending time with Italy. Although, it did seem that this time something extraordinary has shaken him, too. Or at least Prussia really hoped that to be the case because there was no better explanation for eyeing a harmless bunch of flowers with murderous intent.

The white haired man shook his head.

"West-"

"I don't get it. What does this mean?"

Gilbert paused.

"I beg your pardon."

"This," Germany pointed at the bouquet desperately, "What does it mean?"

Stepping closer, Prussia shook his head again.

"These are just flowers."

"These are roses," Germany corrected him. "Red roses…" he whispered eerily as if they were the most dangerous weapon on Earth.

Quite honestly, the situation was rather comical. If not for the fact that the blonde would kick his ass and chuck him out of the room, Prussia would have laughed. On the other hand, as funny as it was, Germany being so challenged emotionally was rather worrying. But then again, the only person whom the blonde seemed to have problems with was, solely, Italy. So maybe it was something to do with the Mediterranean nation after all.

Still, in this case the younger was overreacting. Big time.

"I don't get your point." Prussia plopped down on the other's bed, crossing his legs comfortably, and watched as the blonde paced up and down in front of the dressing table. The wooden flooring creaked in one place under Germany's weight, every single time he passed over the spot. The noise was irritating. "It's Valentine's Day. He gave you flowers because he likes you. It's not a big deal."

Germany stopped. His confused stare fixated on his brother with disbelief at his lack of understanding and empathy.

"He gave me roses," the blonde pointed at the flowers once more, lying at the foot of the bed. " _Red roses._ On Valentine's Day!" He started pacing again, deep frown marring his features but stopped after only a couple of steps. "I should- I should reciprocate it."

This conclusion wasn't entirely wrong, Prussia decided. But seeing how the blonde tended to overanalyse things, it did leave him wondering just what has the other meant by reciprocating.

"If that's how you feel."

"It's the right thing to do." Germany nodded to himself. "After all, we are allies. Friends. In order to maintain good relations- But the roses were _red_ …"

Gilbert's fingers twitched. Again, this stupid comment. So they were red. All of them got red roses. Did Germany not know that? Why did it even matter? Sure, red roses were a symbol of romantic love. But it was Italy they were talking about! The little menace probably just went with the flow of the holiday. But the younger nation made a big deal out of it. As if it was really important! And it really annoyed him. Why was it so infuriating? Why did it bother him that Germany cared? _Why!?_

"What do you think? What should I do?"

Being preoccupied with his own thoughts, and not expecting the blonde to turn towards him so suddenly, Prussia recoiled. Germany was standing just in front of him, leaning close and staring intently with expectant pools of diamond.

"You really should decide it on your own," the older stammered out surprised.

His hand twisted into the fabric of the soft bed throw. Something wasn't right. He didn't like it.

"You're right." The blonde stepped away, immersing himself in deep thoughts once more. "I should research the topic properly. But for starters… Ah, flowers? Roses-…?"

He could almost see it. Germany blushing like an idiot, handing roses to Italy, who happily jumped into his arms-

Nauseating. The idea left him short of breath and sick to his stomach.

His body moved on its own.

"NO!"

Prussia gasped.

Just what the _fuck_ was he doing? Why the hell did he jump up like that? What was wrong with him!?

His extended hand trembled for a moment, then fell back next to his body. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. How embarrassing! So not awesome! But the thought of Germany giving roses to someone else… Even if he didn't mean it like that… Gilbert just couldn't stand it!

 _Italy gave him roses first_ , a little annoying voice supplied in his head. Prussia silenced it immediately.

It was true. But Italy gave flowers to all of them. On his part, it was just a friendly gesture. He had no doubts about that. But Germany…

Prussia closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to get rid of the tormenting thoughts.

Just what was Germany thinking? Why was it so difficult!?

Gilbert stepped back, his stomach churning uncomfortably as his cheeks heated up. "Ah… I mean… Heliotropes. He likes heliotropes."

 _Fuck!_

His voice trembled. He couldn't take it. "I'm sorry. It's late and I'm tired. I better go…"

"Brother…!"

"Goodnight."

Shaky legs carried him automatically, and he left the room without looking back at the bewildered blonde.

But even in the safety of his own room, he was suffocating.

It was scary. The pressure on his chest, his stomach churning like angry snakes; it was scary.

He never-

He never thought of this before. Never thought of the possibility that maybe, perhaps… Possibly Germany would… That he would-…

He chocked. Sliding down against the wall he was desperately trying to draw some air into his lungs.

No, that couldn't happen! Germany wouldn't! He wouldn't… What wouldn't he?

Prussia wasn't even sure what sent him into such panic. Or rather, he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to acknowledge it.

But his treacherous mind was working against him. Supplying with images that left him drenched in cold sweat and paralysed with fear.

Why has it never occurred to him? He was so focused on Italy and his feelings, and keeping him away from the blonde that he never realised that it could be Germany, who-

He gulped. Heavily and painfully. His heart hammered like crazy, trying to break his ribcage from the inside.

He never realised that Germany could develop feelings for the little nation, as well. Feelings, other than camaraderie, other than friendship.

It wasn't… It wasn't impossible.

His heart rate picked up even more.

Fuck!

He had to calm down! Stop overanalysing things! Germany was just confused. He was talking about friendship, being allies and maintaining good relations! It wasn't like he was in l-love or anything…

Gilbert took a deep breath, and let his head drop against the cold wall. His body was rigid and frozen, mind numb.

He breathed out slowly.

Relax. Think this through rationally. What were his options?

He took another gulp of air and kept it in.

There was no proof that Germany had any types of romantic feelings towards Italy. The blonde was hopelessly inept when it came to interpersonal relations. And quite honestly, Prussia was just a bit better. His only advantage was his age.

He exhaled, forcing the air out of his lungs until it hurt. Then repeated the process again a few times, slowly breathing in and out.

Feliciano was a difficult case. It was easy to misunderstand his laid-back, open, and over-friendly behaviour. But it's not like it was exclusive to Germany. Italy was friendly with everyone.

Prussia couldn't blame his brother for being confused. But it really made him wonder…

Ah, there was no reason for destroying his health over it right now. Only time could tell what will happen. And he should trust Germany.

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

Fourth part of the Monochrome series.

 **Warning:** language, **M rated**

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia.

 **Pairing:** Prussia x Germany

No beta has seen it.

Historical notes on the bottom.

* * *

Iron Cross

Chapter 3

He was stupid. And by 'he' Gilbert wasn't sure who he was referring to. Because Germany was just plain stupid. As stupid as anyone could get. Stupidly stupid. Period.

He on the other hand… He was stupid for stupidly loving that stupid idiot.

This whole situation-

Tsk! It was stupid.

He heard it from Hungary – of course from her! - as soon as he stepped into the house. She was waiting for him, with a rather unamused expression, and a book snugly pressed to her voluptuous chest.

She told him everything. From Germany's disastrous pick of research material to the idiotic stunt he pulled by proposing to Italy. Italy rejecting the offer, quite rightly so, and then Germany blowing it up. Pressing the book into his hands, Hungary also told him that he should go and speak to the blonde, while she consoled the little nation. But what surprised Prussia the most was that she apologised for not stopping Germany sooner, admittedly the tragicomedic situation was amusing to watch, but she never imagined that the blonde would take it so badly.

For a moment Gilbert was frozen in shock. Trying to comprehend what Hungary has just told him; trying to make sense of the book in his hand; trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Germany _proposed_.

 _What the fuck!?_

He proposed?

 _PROPOSED!?_

Legs carrying him automatically, he trotted to his brother's room. Knocking on the door was just for show, he didn't wait for any answer, just kicked the door in and sailed inside the room like some kind of hurricane. The door slammed behind him with a deafening bang, making Germany jump up surprised and just a tiny bit scared.

"What the fuck have you done!?"

The apathetic look the blonde gave was infuriating. And the fact that he plopped back on the bed and drew the duvet over his head completely ignoring Prussia was only fuel to the raging fire.

What the hell was he anyway? A hormonal teenage kid!? What kind of behaviour was that?

Gilbert was furious. "West!"

"Go away!"

"Fuck, no! We gonna talk about this!"

"I don't want to."

"I don't give a shit!" The older stomped closer. "Look at me!"

The duvet was pulled away with such force that it flew through the air swishing, and landed on the floor several feet away from the bed in a messy heap.

Curled up on a baby blue bed-sheet was Germany. Cheeks red, hair tousled and with a slightly open mouth in a disbelieving fashion - that one might have thought that Prussia has suddenly sprouted a second head, - he really did look like a grumpy kid. But the incredulous expression quickly turned into that of outrage.

"What's the idea!?"

"That's my line!" the white haired nation fumed. "Have you really done what's written in this book?" The heavy tome landed on the mattress with a dull puff. Germany looked at it rigidly, then looked at his brother.

"So what if I have? It's not your business." Came the leaden and deadpan answer.

Gilbert balked. His hands curled into fists and he really wished for a cigarette. He didn't smoke often, but occasionally he needed one to calm his nerves. And right now was one of those moments.

"It's completely my business!" The screeching exclamation was alien even to his own ears, but Prussia ignored it. "Are you completely _blöd_? A _Dummkopf_!? No, actually, don't answer that."

"What do you want?"

The blonde didn't seem to be moved.

"A fucking explanation!"

Bellowing like that wasn't the adult thing to do. It wasn't wise. But honestly it was difficult to hold back. There was an annoying twitch in his eye, too, and Gilbert knew that his blood pressure was over the roof and that he probably looked like a raging kid himself, but… Argh!

How unbelievably stupid can someone get!?

He grabbed at his hair in impotent rage but refrained from actually pulling at it. He had to calm down.

The situation looked bad. It looked really fucking bad. But he had to keep his awesome cool, he was, after all, the older. But it was difficult. Stomach churning threateningly, with heart palpitating faster than a mad racing car Gilbert was scared and angry. And in shock. But most of all he felt betrayed. Again.

Germany was supposed to belong to him. Or him to Germany. Bah! Semantics! They were supposed to belong to each other. _They_ were one! East and West! And yet-

And yet the idiot went and did something like that.

"Just what were you thinking?" he asked again, voice calmer this time, defeated.

But just as Prussia managed to calm himself down enough Germany tipped over his boiling point instead.

"I just followed what was written in the book!" The blonde sat up, eyes like thunderstorm flashed with ire. He pointed at the book, "Why is everyone blaming me!? All I wanted was to reciprocate Italy's gesture from Valentine's Day! And yet-" His voice failed for a moment. "And yet, he rejected me! He hates me! I thought we were friends…"

 _Friends?_

The gears in the white head creaked as they suddenly halted. Did he just say-

"Friends?" The tick in his eye intensified. Damn, he needed a smoke! "You did this to reciprocate his gesture…?"

Germany looked at him as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

"Of course. We are allies. And that's what any friend ought to do."

It was so surreal. Gilbert didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He sort of wanted to do both. It was hysterical! Was the blonde really…? Was he really such a moron? Could it be possible that all of this was just a misunderstanding? A horrible and stupid misunderstanding?

Numbly Gilbert plopped down on the bed himself. This was ridiculous!

"You really don't get it, do you?" he said completely composed. The frustration and annoyance left him. Not fully because he was still pissed at Germany, but at least he started to see things in a different light.

"What are you talking about?"

Gilbert looked at him suspiciously.

"Say, do you love Italy?"

"Of course. He's my friend. Or at least that's what I thought. But he rejected me... He hates me."

Yep. That was it. This explained everything. His brother was just a total imbecile. A blockhead. A fucking dolt. At least when it came to understanding human relations.

And as sad as it was it made him happy, too.

Refraining from burying his face into his palms, Gilbert considered just slapping some sense into Germany. The idea was rather tempting. But he probably wouldn't achieve anything by doing that. The blonde was stubborn on not understanding emotions, so he had to come up with something better.

He sighed.

Why was this so difficult?

"Italy doesn't hate you," he said finally. "Actually, he loves you."

 _More than you can imagine_ , Gilbert thought but never said it out loud.

"He rejected me!"

"Good! I would have done the same. And kicked your teeth in on top of that."

"Brother!?"

"I'm still tempted to do it," the older nation added as a half-assed threat successfully shutting the other up.

He combed through his hair, and closing his eyes sighed again. Now the difficult part: how to explain it to the idiot. He quickly went through a couple of scenarios in his head but none of them were to his liking. The easier the better, probably.

Crap!

Simple and easy wasn't actually that easy.

But he looked at his brother with full determination, and reached after his hand pressing it to his own chest, over his wildly beating heart.

"West," he started, "do you love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let me rephrase it. Are you in love with me?"

The question wasn't entirely fair. Asking this as if he was doubting his lover was not _nice_. At least that's how it felt to Prussia. But in a way he couldn't help it. Especially in the given situation he just had to know. To reassure himself.

Heart hammering with unbelievable force, definitely breaking the legal speed limit, his ruby gaze mercilessly bore into the everlasting swirl of azure sky orbs. It didn't matter that West could most probably feel just how anxious, how nervous his heartbeat was. Let him know! Let him realise just how important this question was! Even if it was a sign of weakness, he didn't care.

His breath hitched. For a moment time seemed to stop as Germany's expression changed from confused to outraged to embarrassed and then shy. Snowy cheeks turned rosy, but when the blonde looked at him there was no hesitation in his voice.

"Of course, I'm in love with you. I've been since as long as I can remember."

Ba-dump.

As time moved again, it seemed his heart started beating with renewed force, too. Suffocating, throat squeezing pressure easing up, breathing became lighter. Easier. The fingers holding the younger nation's hand pressed snugly to his chest twitched just a bit.

But it was okay. It was okay to be relieved. To be a bit more emotional than usual. Germany was still his _West_. His Germany. His lover and other half. And the feelings that washed over him, - calmness, reassurance, comfort – were so draining that he almost tumbled forward into his brother's arms like a pile of sobbing mess.

But it wouldn't be awesome. And he was not done yet.

Gilbert looked at the younger once more, his serious expression making the blonde visibly worried.

"Do you love Italy, too?"

There was no answer.

For a long time, there was no answer at all, and it was difficult to tell if Germany was in shock or if he was contemplating his answer, because the blank look on his face was impossible to decipher.

It was annoying. Aggravating. Waiting for some kind of reaction, for something to happen; Prussia just wanted to shake the other nation.

Patience! He had to wait.

But it was getting too long, and he was almost ready to break the silence himself – not that he knew what he wanted to say – when Germany finally spoke.

"It's not like that…" he started. Blue eyes were closed, and the deep lines that marred his forehead and the little space between his brows as if the question was too hard, made him look as if frowning. It probably was difficult to answer, and Gilbert instinctively wanted to smooth out the wrinkles but was too scared to move. "I love him, but-" He seemed unsure, and Prussia's fingers that curled around his wrist twitched again. "But it's not the same… I- I mean… You're angry-"

The diamond pools of blue snapped open with fear. Germany tried to move away, but Gilbert grabbed after him and now with both hands twisting around his, he pressed his brother's palm even closer to his chest.

"I'm not! I'm not angry!" His outburst was too quick and too desperate. So undignified. Not awesome.

But there was no way he'd let Germany back away now! Now, that they finally seemed to make progress! And really, he wasn't angry. He was relieved. "Trust me! I'm not angry! I understand it!" Germany didn't look convinced, so the white haired nation continued, "I really do. I love Italy, too. He is special to me. But I'm not in love with him-"

 _Are you sure,_ a little voice in his head asked.

The older man froze.

The fuck was that!?

But before he could even comprehend that something has happened, the whole incident was shoved to the back of his head because Germany tried to wriggle out of his hold again. And he just couldn't let it happen.

"But- I mean the book… And you-…"

"Forget about the book!" Prussia interjected. "It's okay to love Italy, to love anyone for that matter. You're friends. Loving someone and being in love are two entirely different things." He let go of the blonde's arm to grab after his shoulders instead. There was no shaking needed, though. Germany's eyes were glued to his, dilated in shock, flashing with light of recognition. "Do you understand it now?"

Pink lips hung open with disbelief. The younger nation was perplexed only for a moment.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?" Came the ghostly whisper of mortified realisation.

Gilbert sighed, hopefully for the last time that day, and let his head drop between his extended arms. God, he was so tired!

"Yes, you've been a total idiot."

"I hurt Italy's feelings…"

"You did."

"I should apologise…"

"Definitely."

He finally let go of his brother completely, and dropped to the bed lying on his back with one arm spread and the other covering his eyes.

Relief.

Fucking finally! Finally Germany understood it! All he wanted now was just to forget about this extremely uncomfortable and stupid incident. He needed a cigarette. And a strong drink. He was too old for shit like that.

Standing up slowly, bones aching and with a dull throb in his head, Gilbert was ready to retire into his room. West would be fine from now on. Besides, he had to clean up after his own mess. But before he could take a step away from the bed the sleeve of his uniform was grabbed.

He halted.

Turning around a rather abashed Germany looked back at him. The blonde held his gaze for a moment, then looked away red with embarrassment, letting go of his clothes as if the material burned him.

"I- I did something horrible," he started. "I hurt you, too. A lot. I was such a fool. Can you ever forgive me?"

It was gut wrenching. Germany should have never looked so humiliated. Well, he did deserve it, really, but Prussia wholeheartedly disliked the sight.

And of course he would forgive him. He wasn't even angry anymore.

Sitting back on the mattress he ruffled the blonde hair as he used to do it when Germany was much younger.

"Don't be silly. Let's just have this whole stupid ordeal behind us."

The younger man exhaled with relief, and drew the leaner body between his muscular arms.

"I really do love you," Germany muttered into his neck, lips caressing the white skin tentatively. "You're the most special to me. Let me make it up to you." Hands circled Prussia locking him in a tight hug. Germany kissed him on the lips softly. Apologetically. "Please..."

Oh, damn…

He couldn't say no. Not only because his body automatically reacted, but because Germany seemed genuinely determined in making it up to him. And because he said Prussia was special. And the blonde was special to him as well.

He returned the kiss, moulding his form perfectly into the strong hold, his own hands finding a way around the other's neck. Mouths clashed, tongues dancing hungrily, exploring as if it was their first kiss in a long time. Ah, actually, it was a rather long time…

Prussia moaned when the plump lips slid lower to assault his neck, and fingers dug into his hips pulling him even closer.

And as the carnal desire slowly awakened the kindling fire deep in the pit of his stomach, Gilbert had a revelation.

Germany just called him _special_. And he owed Germany a name. This was a good opportunity.

But breaking away from West was more difficult than it seemed. The younger's fingers were all over his body caressing and pleasuring, sneakily unwrapping him from the heavy uniform.

He staggered, "We- West…"

Floating.

It felt like floating. Head spinning, fogged over with lust the words were tough to form. "Wes- Wait…"

Finally, he managed to push himself away from the blonde for long enough to form a coherent sentence. Not that it stopped Germany from gluing himself to one of his nipples even through the shirt he was wearing. "If-… Ah… If you want to make it up to me, then…. _fuck!_ Then… Gilbert! Call me Gilbert!" he managed to squeeze out.

The ministrations stopped. Germany looked at him, his brows drawing together into a confused frown.

"Wha-?"

"Gilbert," the older man repeated. "That's my human name. Nations share it with those whom they consider to be special," he explained, saying exactly what Feliciano has told him before. "Names are given by parents, or parent figures in our case. So your name will be a gift from me."

"Brother?"

"Ludwig," Prussia said suddenly, the name rolling off of his tongue with natural ease. He has been thinking about it for quite a while now, but he could never settle on anything. Until now. "Will you accept it?"

"Ludwig…?" The younger repeated slowly, tasting the name for himself. "Ludwig. I like it."

Prussia smiled, and capturing Germany's face between his hands pulled him closer, lips meshing together hungrily. Possessively. Demanding.

West-… No Ludwig was only his.

This whole stupid incident, the fear of losing the blonde made him realise just how fragile their situation as lovers was. Because as brothers there was nothing that could tear them apart, but as lovers…

It's not like he didn't trust Ludwig, this whole ordeal was just a misunderstanding as well. Germany loved him and was in love with him, and Gilbert felt exactly the same. Their feelings were strong and genuine, but there was always the possibility, however minuscule, that the blonde would fall for someone else. Not that Prussia considered anyone a real threat, except… Except Italy. Because he had no right to stand between them. Feliciano was the only one Gilbert couldn't, and didn't want to fight against.

And it scared him.

Because the Mediterranean nation would never make a move on Germany, but the blonde-

It's not that he never considered this option before, because the idea did form once in the darkest and dangerously convoluted parts of his mind, but-

But he never realised just how helpless it would feel. How powerless and unwilling he was to fight against Feliciano.

And it scared him, chest constricting with suffocating fear, sending his heart into a panicked frenzy.

He didn't want to think about it. Not now, probably not ever!

Instead, he deepened the kiss even more and after fumbling with the buttons of Germany's shirt, he shimmied the material off the other's taut body. Nimble fingers ghosted over the expanse of milky skin, and the blonde reciprocated in kind. Clothes rustling to the ground, Germany pushed the older man back on the bed, adoring every inch of skin with tender nips and kisses.

Scorching.

Gilbert's body was on fire, burning with white-hot pleasure everywhere, where those succulent pink lips have touched.

Germany was his.

"You belong to me _, Ludwig_ ," he gasped, drawing the other into another breathless kiss, legs interlocking behind the younger's waist, capturing him in a strong embrace.

Like a prison. There was no escape.

" _Gilbert_ ," The whispered name was sweet. Poisonous. " _Gilbert…_ " The blonde repeated like a mantra, gasping and moaning it again and again as their bodies clashed together.

What was meant to be a gift was now a spell, an incantation, a hex binding them together by flesh and desire. A curse borne from love and fear that the insecure future held.

And every single time Prussia heard his name uttered in that sultry and wanton way, a voice screamed in his head like a banshee, heart throbbing painfully as if a witch was squeezing it in the ghastly fumes of a violently bubbling cauldron.

" _Gilbert…Ngh…_ "

It was agonising.

Hearing it was agonising. But at the same time it was proof that they belonged to each other. That they were one. And as his body burned with pleasure like the deepest crevices of Hell, chanting Germany's human name like a pious prayer, Prussia promised himself that he wouldn't stand between Italy and the blonde. But it didn't mean he would let Germany go that easily either.

As long as Ludwig sought love and pleasure and solace within his arms, he wouldn't let go. He would tie the blonde with everything he got.

"Ludwig… Ludwig… _Ludwig…_ "

He was despicable.

 _ **After 1940**_

The stench of blood, burning flesh and gunpowder followed him everywhere. Even far away from the front lines, it was always present, stuck in his nose, infesting every lungful of air he drew. It followed him to the big cities away from the war. Followed him to his office. To his home. To his own bed. No amount of scrubbing got rid of it. No amount of expensive cologne could overpower. No amount of alcohol could drown…

This modern warfare sucked, and he still struggled to adapt.

Yet again, Prussia couldn't sleep. His head echoed from screams, gunshots and the whizzing sound of airplane engines. His tarnished history laughed into his face with accusing fingers pointing at how weak he has become from every fucking poster around the country. The Teutonic Knights used for propagandistic purposes… And he offered it on a silver plate when he relinquished his power for Germany's sake. Vigorously cracking fire consumed the ground and the sky. His place, his home _,_ his _body_ was burning. No, actually, the whole world was burning.

But he waged many wars already. He would survive this one, too. He would persevere. It was his duty to the people, to the land, and to Germany. It was his duty as a nation to see it through. To witness with his own two eyes everything what his children did…

Something slithered over Gilbert's stomach with slimy fear. It was difficult to explain. He didn't know why. He didn't understand. But this feeling permeated his whole being like some kind of feverish sickness, leaving even his bones aching.

The duvet got tangled around his form with suffocating tightness as he uselessly turned and tossed in the bed. Sweat trickled down pale skin. Lips dry like parchment, Prussia couldn't swallow.

He was chocking.

Water. He needed some water.

Heavy body moving sluggishly, the floor seemed freezing against his bare feet. The corridors too quiet as he shuffled through to get to the kitchen.

Maybe he really has caught a cold? But he was a nation. Nations didn't get sick that easily. No, it was exhaustion. It had to be. He has been working too much lately, and didn't get enough sleep. A glass of water and some good rest would help. For sure.

 _But, fuck!_

He hated feeling weak. Feeling this helpless. But this war- And not being in charge- It was more difficult than he initially thought! He just couldn't adjust!

Legs carried him automatically. But his body froze in shock passing by the living room; Prussia was too immersed in his thoughts to notice it first, but someone was sitting inside the darkness all alone.

He forced himself to stay calm. And as he stepped closer, he recognised Italy's characteristic curl even through the thick blanket of the night. Heart thudding like crazy, he berated himself for being such an idiot scaredy-cat, as a relived sigh tore from his chest.

There was nothing to fear. After all, he was the awesome Prussia!

But something wasn't right.

Italy recoiling from the noise and violently turning around was not a surprise. But the tired and bleak eyes that barely focused on his silhouette were.

Prussia swallowed the unease with difficulties.

"Feli! I didn't know you were here. Why aren't you in bed?"

There was no answer.

The thorny vines of uncomfortable silence that stretched between them were like a prison.

Long seconds ticked away.

Gilbert wondered if the other has heard him, or if he was even awake, but the blank stare that heavily bore into nothingness turned away suddenly, and Italy dropped his head onto his pulled up knees, indicating that he was very much awake.

"I can't sleep," he muttered.

So Prussia wasn't the only one then.

But it wasn't right. Something was off. This restless pressure weighing in the air, like a muggy calm before the impending storm just wouldn't let him rest.

Italy was behaving strange. And as the taller man stepped closer and put a hand on the other nation's bony shoulder, he winced in shock. The sound was alien even to his own ears, and so fucking undignified, too, but he couldn't care at that moment.

Italy was cold as ice. The little body shivered under his touch. And if there was one thing that Gilbert knew, without a single ounce of doubt, it was that Italy never let himself get cold. He simply couldn't take it. His body that belonged to the Mediterranean couldn't handle that. If the older was cold it meant that something really bad was happening.

Gilbert immediately wrapped the blanket that was lying on the couch around him, rubbing his hands over the thick material and across the trembling body to warm it up.

"Feliciano, what's happening!?"

Once more, there was no answer. The usually molten gold eyes looked over his head unfocused with dull greyness. If it was because of the darkness of the night or something else, Prussia couldn't tell, but he dreaded to click the lights on. The memory of those pearly white orbs still haunted him, and he never wanted to see them again. Such a coward he was!

"I just can't sleep."

The monotone voice was gut-wrenching, and as a response pale fingers twisted around bony shoulders even stronger.

Prussia shook the smaller desperately. "What do you mean you can't sleep?"

What the hell was going on!? Italy should have been fast asleep a long time ago by now, lying next to Ger-

His heart skipped a beat.

No.

That couldn't be. The blonde wouldn't commit the same shitty mistake. Besides, Feliciano looked uninjured aside from being colder than a fucking iceberg. But the gnawing feeling of claws ripping at his stomach from the inside didn't let him breath. "Where is West?"

That finally elicited a proper reaction. Italy's dull eyes dilated and snapped towards the study across the hall.

The door was slightly ajar, and now that Gilbert finally paid some attention to it, he noticed the light shining through the slightly cracked open door, too.

West was still working. Even at this hour. Was Feli waiting for him all this time? Was this the reason why he couldn't sleep? That would explain some things. But the more Prussia thought about it, the more confused he got.

Normally Italy would just fall asleep on the couch while waiting. And Ludwig would pick him up later and take to his bed. Or occasionally Feli would just sleep with Prussia instead.

But this time-… It was strange.

Gilbert rose curiously, letting the thin shoulders slip from between his fingers. Italy didn't move, didn't even look at him, and the man followed his gaze cautiously stepping closer to the study.

The sound of the floor creaking in the stiflingly silent room was like loud shouting in a church - sacrilegious.

His heart thudded. Chest hurt. He was half expecting some kind of monster to jump out of the room, but everything was quiet and still. Sweaty palm twisted around the cool doorknob, but he couldn't open it. It took almost everything to just breathe.

What was this fear?

Gilbert swallowed. Peeking inside the room, the stench of cheap cigarettes hit him so strongly that he almost chocked.

The place was a mess. Papers and books lay scattered everywhere. On the desk, on the chairs, on the floor. A half empty bottle of some kind of alcohol peered out from behind a mountain of documents. And in the middle of all that, there was West. Sitting at his desk, uniform crumpled and hair in disarray, crushing a cigarette between his lips while bending over some papers with a look on his face that made even Prussia's blood freeze.

 _Who…?_

He barely recognised his own brother. His own lover. His other half.

Like a surreal dream, the complete stranger in front of him wore his beloved sibling's body and face, but it was someone else.

The familiar features were distorted into an ugly frown, posture and mannerism alien as he reached after an overflowing ashtray to snuff his smoke out. And as he knocked over another pile of documents steal blue eyes flashed with annoyance.

Gilbert jumped away from the door as if it was burning iron. Legs shaking underneath him, he pressed a cold hand over wildly palpitating heart. Thin clothes greedily drunk up the sweat that trickled down trembling back.

He was chocking with fear.

 _Just who-?_

Who the hell was that person? Who was that Germany inside the study? What the _fuck_ was going on!?

His head snapped towards the door again, the sturdy wood standing between them like an unbreakable wall. Yet just a small push could open it.

He should-

His stomach squeezed, knees buckling underneath him, and the nation almost toppled to the floor. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to press a palm over quivering lips to force the feeling away. Just thinking about going into that room made Gilbert sick.

No wonder none of them could sleep. The aura that the blonde was emitting reminded of the ghastly fumes of a plague infested slough. It was heavy and repugnant, and stuck to one's body like sweaty clothes in humid environment.

It was suffocating.

Gilbert was suffocating in his own skin. And if it affected him this much, Italy had to feel it, too. Probably just as much as he did.

That little idiot should have come to him immediately! Just what was he thinking sitting here alone!

Prussia was angry, but most of all frustrated at his own helplessness. There was nothing he could do. And his red eyes blurred with tears of impotent rage as he slowly walked back, wobbly legs refusing to follow orders properly.

 _Scheiße!_

So not fucking awesome!

He stopped in front of the smaller man. Italy looked up, eyes cold and listless.

"Did you speak with him?" Prussia's voice was raspy, and his throat constricted with every word more and more.

Feliciano just shook his head. "I was scared…"

He looked away in shame. Long lashes casting even darker shadows this way on his pale cheeks. He was like a ghost. Thin and small and lifeless.

Gilbert couldn't stand it.

He hoisted the older up into his arms, noticing with worry just how unnaturally light and skinny the other was, and headed for the bedroom.

This war was not good for any of them, but for Feliciano who wanted to take part in as little fighting and bloodshed as it was possible, it had to be extremely difficult.

He was not born to fight.

Each time something happened and Italy was forced to take up arms, to kill, that was the only thought that reverberated in Gilbert's head like a curse.

 _Italy was not created to kill. Not to shed blood. Not to hurt._

And despite promising to protect him, there was nothing Prussia could do.

Because this war was just like that.

Hopeless.

Futile.

Fucking unavoidable! It was a world war! And Italy promised to stay by their sides, and as naïvely loyal as he was, he would stay with them even if it meant his own death.

The white haired nation's jaw tensed, teeth clenching painfully, as he hugged the shivering body even closer.

He would not allow that. He refused to let that happen. What kind of shitty person would he be otherwise? He owed Italy too much. God dammit, in his own way he _loved_ the little menace! He couldn't let him get hurt even more. And he couldn't stand the thought of West hurting him, unintentionally or otherwise.

The bed dipped and creaked under their combined weight as Prussia settled Italy between the pillows and joined him as well under the warm duvet. White arms weaved themselves around the cold body, rubbing gently, trying to create as much heat as it was possible.

Minutes seemed to stretch endlessly. The shivering only very slowly faded. For a while, it seemed it would never stop completely, but then Italy exhaled, as if breathing for the first time again. His tense form relaxed, and sheets rustled softly as he turned inside the hold of Gilbert's protective embrace.

"Am I that weak? Do I lack the strength to fight completely?" The voice was thin and weak. Muffled by white skin as the older nation pressed his face against Prussia's chest. "I don't want the world to crumble around us. But I'm too scared…"

Gilbert's hug tightened around the other. The words that ghosted over his skin with an icy breath shook him to the core.

The world was growing darker. If they could ever recover was a mystery. Even after the war ended, the future was-

It was too far away. Too unreachable.

Ruby eyes closed as the man's heart clenched, anxiety coursing through his system instead of blood.

Gilbert was scared, too.

It wasn't only Feliciano, it wasn't his weakness.

It was Gilbert's own. For failing to protect him better. For failing to protect Germany better. For being scared of losing the safe and sound place what he had so far as the blonde's brother, not realising that the world has shifted out from under his feet. That the man who he cherished as his only family has turned into someone else. And that everything he knew, the secure world that surrounded him, has already wilted ages ago, like flowers under the bleeding crimson sky when winter's bitter wind blew through the fields.

He was stupid. An utter blind fool.

This time Gilbert shivered. And this time Italy's arms circled his torso offering only dying embers of the heat that the Mediterranean nation usually possessed, but offering it anyway.

And Gilbert latched onto it, as if his whole existence depended on this tiny speck of warmth. Lips quivered. He wanted to speak, wanted to say that everything would be okay, that he would protect him, take his hand and never let go. But no sound could pass through that horrible knot in his throat.

 _Dammit!_

Where was his awesome strength when he needed it?

So fucking pathetic!

"I'll stay with you, I promise…"

So… Humiliating. To rely on the one person who was meant to rely on him. But Feliciano's barely whispered words resonated within the darkest parts of his soul, allowing to at least breathe properly.

Prussia couldn't speak for the rest of the night, but his hold around the thin body never loosened even for a second.

He was Gilbert-Awesome-Belshmidt for fuck's sake! Wallowing in self-pity was not something he did. And even if he lost his way sometimes, he would never go down without a fight.

That was his promise.

 _ **Before April 1945**_

There was no other way. Gilbert wasn't proud of his decision; quite honestly it was rather selfish, but there just wasn't any other way. That was the only option. If he wanted to save Italy…

Ah, he wanted to save Italy badly. But really, he just wanted to save himself.

He was tired and hurt, just like everyone. His wounds bled even now as he leaned against the cool wall in a more secluded area of the corridor. It was almost time. And hopefully the bandages wouldn't get soaked. It's just his shitty luck, too, that Lud-

No.

It was not Ludwig. And it was not Germany either. He refused to accept it. Whoever was that… that person… that whoever! It didn't matter, Gilbert just refused to call him by those names. It was _West_.

The person who took over all those years ago; it was West.

And West knew that he was scheming something. And it didn't make things any easier. Actually, the blonde seemed to intentionally make his life even more difficult, that Arschloch!

But then again, it was his fault. Well, not really, but technically it was his fault anyway. Of course, refusing orders was an idiotic idea, Prussia knew that from the start. But he just couldn't allow it! West was demanding things from Italy that were just beyond his capacity. Outrageous! Unthinkable! And yes, he knew, it was war, and people were dying, and fighting was unavoidable, killing was unavoidable, too; for _fuck's sake_ he knew that more than well!

It wasn't fine but that's how it worked. Prussia understood it. Really, he did. There were countless, -God, _countless_ – distasteful orders he had to carry out during his long life, as well, that didn't sit right with his conscience. But it had to be done. With disgust, bleeding heart and trembling hands; it had to be done even despite the nightmares that would surely follow and made him retch for nights on. After all, they were nations, and there was no nation on this whole fucking globe that could ever go against the wishes of its people. But it didn't mean they had to agree. That they had to completely roll over and take it like a starved bitch. There was a fine line somewhere that separated what a nation and what its leaders wanted; and often it was not the same. Sometimes the people's voices were louder, sometimes the leaders' will; it wasn't always easy to manage. But _them_ , the personifications, were people, too. And they had voices too.

And it seemed West not only lost his voice somewhere, but his sight and hearing, too, getting completely consumed by that deranged boss of his.

That's why there was no way in hell that Gilbert would allow Italy to go through with it! He point blank refused to forward the order.

Unsurprisingly, West was fuming. And what he dished out afterwards as punishment… Gilbert shivered and banished the memories before they could even properly materialise.

With slow and jerky movements he turned towards the clock that was hanging on the wall not that far away. He still had some time.

Breathing hurt. He had a couple of broken ribs so it wasn't really surprising, but the real pain was the bullet wound in his side that refused to heal. Shit! Why now? Why did it have to happen now!? Seriously, any other day he would have gladly taken even three fucking bullets but today!

Calm down! He had to calm down, or the chances of screwing up would be too high.

Prussia sighed. And immediately regretted doing that as sharp pain jabbed at every cell in his body.

Again, shit!

Naturally, after that incident Italy still had to do what was expected of him, and surprisingly for once he didn't fuck it up either. But the consequences… He hasn't been himself since then. Gilbert was… breaking. Every single time he saw Feliciano.

It wasn't right. So he did the only thing he could think of at that time, and on top of his own responsibilities, took all of Italy's orders upon himself, too. And West had to notice that as well, because the missions Italy was assigned to became more and more ridiculous! More ruthless…

That sly bastard!

Gilbert was seething! But most of all he was tired. Too fucking tired and hurting to continue this madness.

And it was selfish, and unforgivable, and he was the lowest of them all, because he was braking a promise, an oath he made centuries before he even met Germany! He fucking _swore_ to protect Italy and he was breaking that! Well, not entirely, because ultimately he was saving Feliciano at the same time but it didn't change the facts.

He was despicable.

But he just didn't have the strength anymore, nor mental or physical, to continue fighting this losing battle on two sides at the same time. Because if West ever thought that he could win, he was more delusional than a drugged up, feverish soldier on a death bed. But despite that – because fuck logic! –when it came down to a simple choice, Gilbert decided to remain here.

It was his duty.

As much as he wanted to snap that asshole's neck lately, he wanted – no, needed – to be by his side. That's where he belonged to. Even if Ludwig wasn't himself right now, even if Prussia didn't agree with him, West was still his brother. His other half.

And _GodFuckingDammit_ he loved the blonde more than anything!

If West Germany had to fall, East would fall with him! That's how it was meant to be. That's how Gilbert wanted it to be.

But Italy was in the way.

As selfish and guilty Prussia was for wanting to stay, just that much selfish and guilty was Italy for the exactly same reason.

His brother has deflected already. His home, his people were torn. No, actually, _Italy,_ as a whole has chosen sides; it was only Feliciano who refused to move forward.

And when Gilbert furiously demanded a good explanation, a good reason for going against his brother's will, against his people's will, because he just couldn't fucking fathom why would the older nation remain, all he got as an answer was, – and he will probably remember that thin and broken voice with the pathetically weak smile that accompanied it for the rest of his entire life – that _he promised_.

Feliciano promised to stay by their sides. As simple as that.

And Gilbert never hated himself as much like in that single moment because he already knew that he would break his promise.

He was weak. And Italy was strong. Stronger than any of them.

But there was no way around it. Gilbert would make the other brake his promise, and in exchange he would break his own. Besides, strength was worthless if one couldn't use it. And Feliciano's strength had a different texture, a different… Ah, how to explain it? It was just different. It was something more intangible.

It was something Prussia didn't quite understand but knew that it existed and valued it a lot, but right now this stubborn strength was just in the way!

And he couldn't do it anymore.

Prussia shut his eyes, pain overriding his senses for a moment as the minutes ticked away with cruel hesitation. Too long! This wait was too long.

Trying to calm his shaking body, the nation wondered if it was okay. If it was okay to end it like this. He hated losing. Has he lost the will to fight, then? The will to protect what was the most precious in this whole world?

How pathetic, of course, not!

But… As humiliating as it was to admit, with every fibre in his body rebelling against the slightest notion, he was weak.

The White Demon of Europe was dead, leaving only him behind, whoever he was right now.

Even so, Prussia was not that feeble yet, not even in this sorry state to give up completely. He had his pride! After sacrificing this much already it didn't matter if he had to crawl through bloody mud and rain of fire, sully the once proud name, and desperately hold on to the last shred of his dignity with teeth and claws.

Because even if he had to fight West himself, the blonde was his brother.

And then one night when everything seemed hopeless, and he was wallowing locked away in a bitter cage built of anguish and pain, it came to him.

An idea.

An escape route.

A move that disgusting that at the beginning he refused to even consider it as an option.

But as the situation got worse and worse, the war progressing in a way that was terrifyingly grim, even for a nation who was once considered the most ruthless of them all, Prussia convinced himself that that was the only way. That's what he told himself and that's what he firmly believed. Whether it was a correct choice or not, only time will tell.

So he made his move.

With his connections and status sending a message to Romano, despite West's watchful guard dog eyes and the strict surveillance, wasn't that difficult. The blonde of course suspected something, but there was no proof. Prussia was cautious.

And the message was straightforward and simple. A date and time. A place. Easy instructions: come alone, pick him up. Really, it was difficult to fuck up. But then again, the Italy brothers had a special knack for screwing up things…

And now everything was riding on this one moment.

Prussia's heart hammered in his throat with chocking force. The gun, heavy in his hand, slipped out from between his sweaty fingers again and again.

Dammit!

How much longer? It was already time!

But just as he started getting worried, hesitant footsteps filled the corridor.

And soon the form of a shorter figure, dressed in a uniform of a lower ranking officer appeared, too. But Gilbert instantly knew, just from the way how the man walked, that it was no soldier of theirs. It was too soft. Too melodic.

And Romano didn't really tried to hide his identity, because the characteristic curl of the Mediterranean stuck out from under his military cap like a sore thumb. That idiot.

Prussia wanted to strangle him, or at least hit him. Hard. But then again, somehow that aggressive little tomato freak got in, so he assumed it was okay. But Romano was too careless, and he didn't like it.

Pushing himself away from the wall and stepping behind the smaller man, Gilbert raised his weapon pointing it straight at the back of the other's head.

"Look who we have here! If it isn't Italy Romano?" The gun shook in his hand, but voice was smooth and mocking. Really, such a great actor he was! Prussia was proud of himself. Except that he could probably manage three more minutes of this façade before he would fall into pieces.

Crap.

Better hurry it up. "Isn't it awfully brave of you to walk in to the viper's nest unarmed?"

The smaller man gritted his teeth. "Old Potato Bastard! I knew it was a trap."

"And yet you walked in to it. How stupid are you?"

Expecting a sardonic answer to his taunting Gilbert was not prepared when Romano ducked and swung around in a wide arc trying to knock him over. Prussia stepped back instinctively, losing his balance just for a moment as scorching pain shot up his spine from the bullet wound in his side. That sneaky shithead caught him off guard. Who knew that the Southern sibling had so much spunk in him? It was interesting. Exhilarating even! And despite his unsightly performance, – Prussia would just blame it on his wounds anyway – his lips pulled into a toothy grin.

This could be fun.

Romano snarled. Pure disgust and resentment burning like a furnace in his fiery eyes as he looked at the white haired man, pointing two small guns at his head as a reply.

What a surprise! So he was armed after all!

"You look like shit," he said.

Prussia's lips pulled into an even wider malicious grin.

"Right back at ya! Only you could do that uniform such a disgrace. How did you get it anyway?"

There was no answer, not like Gilbert expected one. The other's silence was quite obvious, actually. Ah, he should have known. "I guess there are spies everywhere."

Romano's hands twitched in response. Such a hopeless guy. He was way too easy to read.

But then again, not like Prussia was any better. The game he was playing right now could be considered as high treason. Oh, well! He had his own agenda.

"So, will you tell me where is Veneziano, or did you call me here to just waste my time?" Romano asked, his posture unflinching and threatening.

Tsk! The little prick was impatient but his cocky bravery was admirable at least. And Prussia was running out of time as well; his peripheral vision blurring from overexertion and blood loss.

So not awesome!

Just how much of a loser had one to be to not even be able to handle a tiny little bullet wound! If he didn't hurry it up he would definitely faint and that wasn't only humiliating but dangerous as hell, too.

 _Fuck!_

Let's finish this then.

"Congratulations on making it this far." Gilbert took a couple of cautious steps backwards, his back colliding with the cold wall softly.

Standing was difficult. His extended, gun-holding hand trembled. Voice quivered, and despite coating his words with a heavy layer of arrogance, it was impossible to hide his state. Prussia was disgusted with his poor stamina and awful performance.

Whatever. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. "But please, do tell, how are you planning to get out of here?"

Romano snorted. "None of your business."

Ah well… Technically it wasn't his business, true. Except that it was totally his business! He called the tomato freak here to rescue his brother, not to fuck up the mission and get themselves - actually, all three of them – captured. He wanted this to be a success.

But the older nation's reluctance to answer was an answer in itself. Prussia had a good idea of what was the other planning. And he didn't approve of it.

"You're planning to use that connection of yours, ha?"

Silence.

Bingo!

"Bad idea."

"No one asked you."

Gilbert took a shaky breath. "Right now only the highest ranking officers have permission, or can give permission to leave. Can your connection provide that?"

There was no answer again, and a shit eating grin split Prussia's face at Romano's angry and slowly panicking expression.

 _Fucking knew it!_

But the pleasure he felt at the other's misfortune, or rather comical stupidity and heedlessness – Schadenfreude was such a beautiful word, he just loved it! – was unfortunately short lived. His hand shamelessly trembled by this point, and he scrunched his eyes shut, face contorting in pain. Body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shivers started running up his spine. So here came the fever, too. How unawesome…

He gave a soft chuckle at the irony, arm falling down and gun clattering to the floor with a loud, obnoxious noise. His fingers were too numb. Doesn't matter. It wasn't loaded anyway. It was just for show. And even if it was loaded, what would he achieve by shooting a nation? He would put them out of commission, gaining a few hours, possibly a day, and well, maybe his ego would feel better, too, but that was it.

Romano looked at him like at some kind of crazy psychopath.

"Have you completely fucking lost it?"

Focusing on the other was difficult, but he tried it anyway. "Most probably." Came the breathy answer. "But don't worry, the awesome me will save your ass, too."

He reached into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. Romano's gun holding hands instinctively flinched, the weapons clicking ominously. Prussia didn't care.

Despite the obvious warning he continued, and pulled out a set of keys and a meticulously folded paper from their hiding place.

"What's that?"

"Your ticket out of here," Gilbert panted. "Veneziano is in the infirmary further down this corridor." A jerky nod indicated the way, "He's unconscious."

"You bastard, what did you do to him!?"

The taller nation's vision blurred. He barely heard the angry stomping of military boots over the throbbing pain in his skull, only noticing that Romano was in his face, when the cold barrel of the guns pressed against his forehead.

He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus again.

"He did that to himself," Prussia forced out of his mouth. "Stubbornly remaining here… Instead of going away with you… When you asked… Shit!"

His side was excruciating. He really needed to lie down and sleep it off, instead of pointlessly arguing with Romano about stuff that was well, completely pointless.

Fingers desperately closing around the keys and the paper, he pressed it against the other's chest. Romano grabbed after them robotically. "The keys are to that medical van parking in the back courtyard. You should be able to find it easily. Grab Veneziano… Take the back entrance out of the building…" Ah, crap, this wheezing was so fucking undignified! Gilbert was really losing it. But he refused to pass out just yet. "The document… will give you clearance to leave the headquarters…"

Enough.

It was enough. He couldn't continue anymore. Sliding down along the wall and smearing blood everywhere, Prussia groaned when he was finally in a sitting position. It didn't matter anymore if he looked weak, he could barely hold on to his consciousness.

Besides, it was only Romano anyway. And by now, all that the man wanted was to have this nightmare behind.

But the little shitface hasn't moved yet, and Gilbert's eye twitched in annoyance and impatience. Just what the hell was he waiting for? What the hell was he hesitating for!? Prussia couldn't give more clear and straightforward instructions that that!

"Why the fuck… are you still here…?" Words slurred, his tongue moved slowly and with a lot of difficulties.

 _Damn it!_

Romano ignored him.

"Why are you doing this?"

 _Why?_

Quite honestly this question shouldn't have been a surprise, yet the white haired man balked anyway. Not because he didn't have an answer, he just wasn't expecting the other to care.

"Because that's the only way I know how to protect both him and Germany…"

There was no point lying. And there was no shame in it either. Whether Romano understood him or not, made no difference. Moreover, Prussia didn't really understood himself either. He did it for selfish reasons. For his own convenience. Protecting both of them on his own was just too difficult. Hell, his state right now was a good enough proof! And while he was not proud of betraying Germany, and definitely not proud of braking his hundreds of years old promise to Italy, he just couldn't come up with anything better.

"Do you think this is going to protect them?" Romano was unconvinced, but there was no real mocking in his voice. He put the guns away, and pocketed the keys and the document that Gilbert gave him as well. "You're delusional."

The younger man smiled weakly.

Heh, maybe he really was. Who knew?

The Mediterranean nation's light footsteps echoed in the hall as he headed for the infirmary. Prussia sighed, finally relived that this whole mess would end soon. But before he could submit his tired mind and body to the blissful void of unconsciousness Romano halted.

"Don't die." The Southern sibling's arrogant voice was unusually commanding, despite the fact that for once he was speaking rather quietly. "Veneziano would be heartbroken."

He was gone even before Gilbert's feverish brain could comprehend what the hell happened. However, when the words finally reached him he couldn't suppress the sarcastic laugh that wanted to rip forth from his chest. It hurt like a bitch, too, but he was past caring.

How incredibly embarrassing!

Was his state really that horrible? Despite being a nation, did he really looked like someone ready to keel over? Fuck, he truly had to look like shit, then. Being pitied by his enemy…. Surely, there was no sinking lower now! Ah he might have been too hasty about that. After all, passing out in the corridor was quite mortifying as well.

Oh well, it was late. No one should be here at this time, so the chances of him being found out were slim. And if he rested for a bit, he could probably manage to get himself to the infirmary. From then on, everything would be easy.

He was a badass nation after all, he would survive. Just like Italy. Just like Germany. And with this last move, if the worst should happen, if they fall with West after losing the war… Just the thought of disappearing frightened him. But, well… Then at least they won't drag down Feliciano with them. Even if he didn't achieve anything else, only this… If only this one wish of his would be granted, that would be enough.

Gilbert was ready for everything.

The end was welcome now.

~Fin~

* * *

 **Historical Notes:**

Italian unification and Prussia's involvement: In 1860–1861, general Giuseppe Garibaldi led the drive for unification in Naples and Sicily, allowing the Sardinian government led by the Count of Cavour to declare a united Italian kingdom on 17 March 1861. In 1866, Victor Emmanuel II allied with Prussia during the Austro-Prussian War, waging the Third Italian War of Independence which allowed Italy to annex Venetia. Finally, as France during the disastrous Franco-Prussian War of 1870 abandoned its garrisons in Rome, the Italians rushed to fill the power gap by taking over the Papal States. _(Wiki)_

Italy during WWI: Italy, nominally allied with the German Empire and the Empire of Austria-Hungary in the Triple Alliance, in 1915 joined the Allies into the war with a promise of substantial territorial gains. The war was initially inconclusive, as the Italian army get struck in a long attrition war in the Alps, making little progress and suffering very heavy losses. Eventually, in October 1918, the Italians launched a massive offensive, culminating in the victory of Vittorio Veneto. The Italian victory marked the end of the war on the Italian Front, secured the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and was chiefly instrumental in ending the First World War less than two weeks later. _(Wiki)_

Italy at the end of WWII: An Allied invasion of Sicily began in July 1943, leading to the collapse of the Fascist regime and the fall of Mussolini on 25 July. On 8 September, Italy surrendered. The Germans shortly succeeded in taking control of northern and central Italy. The country remained a battlefield for the rest of the war, as the Allies were slowly moving up from the south. Meanwhile, in the north, the Germans set up the Italian Social Republic (RSI), a Nazi puppet state with Mussolini installed as leader. In late April 1945, with total defeat looming, Mussolini attempted to escape north, but was captured and summarily executed. Hostilities ended on 29 April 1945, when the German forces in Italy surrendered. _(Wiki)_

Prussia Coup d'état: In contrast to its pre-war authoritarianism, Prussia was a pillar of democracy in the Weimar Republic. This system was destroyed by the Preußenschlag ("Prussian coup") of Reich Chancellor Franz von Papen. In this coup d'état, the government of the Reich deposed the Prussian government on 20 July 1932, under the pretext that the latter had lost control of public order in Prussia. Papen appointed himself Reich commissioner for Prussia and took control of the government. The Preußenschlag made it easier, only half a year later, for Hitler to take power decisively in Germany, since he had the whole apparatus of the Prussian government, including the police, at his disposal. _(Wiki)_

"Marriage of old Prussia with young Germany": After the appointment of Hitler as the new chancellor, the Nazis used the absence of Franz von Papen as an opportunity to appoint Hermann Göring federal commissioner for the Prussian ministry of the interior. The Reichstag election of 5 March 1933 strengthened the position of the Nazi Party, although they did not achieve an absolute majority. _(Wiki)_

The Reichstag building having been set on fire: a few weeks earlier on 27 February, a new Reichstag was opened in the Garrison Church of Potsdam on 21 March 1933 in the presence of President Paul von Hindenburg. In a propaganda-filled meeting between Hitler and the Nazi Party, the "marriage of old Prussia with young Germany" was celebrated, to win over the Prussian monarchists, conservatives and nationalists and induce them to vote for the Enabling Act of 1933. _(Wiki)_

Anschluss: Austria was annexed by Nazi Germany on 12 March 1938. There had been several years of pressure from supporters in Austria and Germany (both Nazis and non-Nazis) for the "Heim ins Reich" movement. Earlier, Nazi Germany had provided support for the Austrian National Socialist Party (Austrian Nazi Party) in its bid to seize power from Austria's Fatherland Front government. _(Wiki)_

All the historical data is gathered mainly from the Wikipedia. Might not be the most reliable of source, but this is just a fanfiction. Thanks for reading through all of this!


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